Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead-Chapter 1251: The Fright

Capítulo 1251: The Fright

The light flickered. All livings froze. There was a moment of lull. Did it last for less than a second, or did an eternity pass? None could tell. The lights dimmed. All livings felt their vision go darker, as though the hands of shadow covered their eyes. The man at the forefront, closest to the window of the lighthouse, closest to the barrier, closest to the undead–He heard his fellows drop to the ground one by one. Not loudly, it was as though they had been overtaken by a wave of fatigue and had lowered themselves to sleep directly upon the floor.

He was spared from this phenomenon, but his eyes remained locked upon the undead. The corpse was still standing here, unmoving, simply staring back as the light weakened by the second. The living found himself incapable of blinking–No, he could if he tried, but every bone, every ligament, and every drop of blood screamed not to lose sight of the undead.

‘I need to sound the alarm’

He thought, but his legs did not obey his command. They did not wish to move, for motion might cause the corpse to be lost track of, and for reasons the man did not understand, this simple action of looking away was the worst possible decision he could take at the moment.

The situation was critical, however… He couldn’t stop himself from blinking for long, and the light of the lighthouse was going to fade into obscurity anyway. The undead would vanish from his sight no matter what. The correct choice was definitely to make a run for the lever that would sound a loud siren throughout the interior of the barrier, alerting the powerful ones… But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was unable to overpower his instincts.

He, a human refugee who had survived an invasion by the undead twice, was incapable of using his gift of sapience to overwrite his most base instincts. It was like he had returned to a primal state, where his guts were his only compass to manoeuvre the world around him.

He cursed in his beard, moments before the light faded and darkness took hold–For just a few seconds before returning to its original, normal strength.

“What just happened…?”

He was able to move once more, and his first instinct was to step forward, pressing his hands against the glass. The undead were gone, just as the cadaver had first appeared. The cadaver had vanished.

The man felt his heart being gripped by terror. He felt overwhelmed. Despite having survived two invasions by the Undead Empire, he had never fought a single undead. He had once been a small-time warrior, and he had taken up training, just in case. Nonetheless, he was greatly doubtful that he could defeat even a single Rank and File. He would probably be able to defend himself well enough not to die, but actually winning? At best, he would be able to push the corpse back enough for him to be able to make a run for it…

He had never been cut out for being a warrior. Scrawny, unable to build muscles, lacking the reflexes, lacking the madness of those destined for greatness… Yet, he would be basically helpless against even the weakest grunt of the Vanguard… He could see a Pseudo in the reflection of the glass. The undead were directly behind him, standing silently and unmoving like before, but much closer now.

…Looking back at the corpse through the glass, the man closed his eyes, expecting the cold, ruthless hands of Death to claim him–But nought happened, the undead did not move. He remained exactly in the same spot.

“…W-What do you want?”

His voice was trembling. The only reason his entire body was shaking was because he was pressing his palms against the glass, steadying and anchoring himself in place. Nonetheless, his fear could be tasted in the air.

The Pseudo was much like the others of the same caste. He resembled Loimos closely. The difference lay in the… Texture of the clothes and armour he wore upon his rotten body. The armour looked as though it was made out of rough, dark grey stone, while the garments looked like flowing tar which somehow retained its shape.

The light flickered, and the undead got closer. Bloodshot eyes were now visible beneath the bar of his helm, staring intently at the living, their pupils shrinking more and more the longer they unblinkingly gazed.

A long, unnatural sigh escaped the cadaver.

THEIR HEARTS. CARVE THEM OUT FOR ME.

The undead brought a knife and grabbed the living’s wrist, pushing the blade into the man’s palm.

“What…”

CARVE THEM OUT. BRING THEM TO ME.

“Why would I do this?!”

YOU WILL LIVE ON. LET FEAR CONTROL YOU. LET FEAR SAVE YOU FROM THE DOOM I HAVE PREPARED FOR YOU.

CARVE THEIR HEARTS OUT. DO IT. DO IT. DO IT. DO IT. DO IT. DO YOU NOT WISH TO SURVIVE? DO YOU NOT WISH TO CONTINUE LIVING YOUR SHAMEFUL EXISTENCE? DO YOU NOT WISH TO RETURN TO YOUR FAMILY? IF YOU DO NOT REMOVE THEIR HEARTS. I WILL TEAR YOUR APART. THEN YOUR WIFE. THEN YOUR DAUGHTER. THEN YOUR SON. I WILL RIP YOUR THIRD FROM YOUR WIFE’S STOMACH. I WILL KILL THEM IN WAYS YOU CAN NOT IMAGINE. DO IT. DO IT.

DO. IT.

The living breathed heavily, feeling like his lungs were about to collapse on themselves. His heart was beating faster than ever before. Its sound was deafening, drowning out all other noises as the undead’s horrific voice rang out in his ears.

It sounded like several people were speaking perfectly in unison, all of them pulling on what sounded like damaged vocal cords… It was as though it wasn’t really the undead speaking, but that he was forcing people to speak his words in his stead.

Cold sweat ran down the watcher’s back. He gripped the dagger in his hand. He had never experienced such intense fear before. He could barely think straight. It felt like listening to what the corpse had to say was the only way out of this situation–However, his rationale was not gone. How could anyone trust what an undead had to say?

Was any of this even real? How had the undead bypassed the barrier? What if the livings were under the effects of a mental attack, and in truth, the Pseudo had never moved from his original position? What if the figure standing behind him was nothing more than an illusion? He needed to breathe and calm down. He couldn’t make any hasty decisions…

‘He’s not real… He’s not real… It’s impossible for an undead to just… Get past the barrier’

I ASSURE YOU, I AM VERY REAL.

‘…Fuck this!’

Sent into a panic by having his mind read, the watcher turned and lunged toward the lever to sound the alarm, which was just nearby. Within reach–But his arm never touched the lever, the undead’s gloved hand grabbed the man’s forearm.

It had been the truth. The undead were really inside the lighthouse.

The living screamed in pain as his forearm was crushed, he felt his flesh being squeezed, and his bones slowly cracking.

YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE INVITED ME INSIDE.

YOUR EXISTENCE OF HERESY ENDS HERE. LET YOURSELF BE BLINDED BY THE LIGHT. LET YOURSELF BE CRADLED BY THE DARK.

With a sudden jerk, the undead tore the living’s arm right off, throwing it against the glass all around the interior of the lighthouse, and just as he had promised, he proceeded to tear the man apart, ripping off his limbs, making a bloody mess. The window was tainted red, rendered opaque as the man’s screams were muffled inside.

Once the undead was done, the man was unrecognisable. His remains strung up against the ceiling, his intestines leaking out of his stomach cavity, his face forever twisted in a scream of agony.

The corpse turned his attention to the knocked-out livings. They should have had their hearts carved out by a fellow, but alas, things did not always go as you might desire them to…

They were brutally butchered as well…

The cadaver rose, hands stained and entire body stained with blood. The many eyes within his helm looked around at the scene of carnage he had created. The glass of both the wide window encircling the top of the lighthouse, as well as the glass around the vibrant lights, had been completely smeared with absurd amounts of blood.

Light was still shining, but it was now greatly obstructed and cast a blood-red light as a result.

As if in admiration of what he had done, the undead stood completely stiff in place for several dozen minutes before his upper body suddenly leaned back as though all of the bones there had suddenly disappeared.

He had figured out what to do now.

His ‘art’ was quickly, but carefully completed, before a puddle of the same tar-like substance making up his clothes formed in front of him, he crawled into its mass like a boneless serpent.

The dark puddle soon went away, and the undead went to an unknown place.

爐

䲎䤸”

魯

擄

䲯…”㼵䣴㙥䏾䓬㓉㼵㙥

㛡䲯㬙

盧

盧

擄

老

櫓

蘆

㬙㛡䏾㙥

蘆

䏾㙥

㧷㼳䣴㼥䏾

“䲎䲯 䓬䀯㪓䲯䌥䲃䩴 䓟㛡䲯㪓䲯 䤸㼥䲃 䓟䀯䩴㓉䐎 䩬㼥䲃 㩙㙥䣴㛡㬙 䓬㼥㼵㬙䀯㩙㙥㼵䀯㬙䲯 䲯䂱㙥㧷䲯㼵䓬䲯… 㦐㼵䤸䓟䀯䤸㼳 㧷㼥 䀯㼵䤸 㼥䌥 㼥䲃㪓 䲯䙻㕇䲯㪓㬙䏾 㛡䀯䂱䲯 䀯 䓬䩴䲃䲯 䓟㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 㛡䲯䩴䩴 㛡䀯㕇㕇䲯㼵䲯㧷 㛡䲯㪓䲯㗢”

“㽭㛡㼥 㓉㼵㼥䓟䏾 䀯㪜㼥䲃㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䏾㕇䲯䓬㙥䌥㙥䓬䏾㗢 䲎䲃㬙 㙥㬙’䏾 㕇㪓䲯㬙㬙䤸 㧷䀯㩙㼵䲯㧷 㼥㪜䂱㙥㼥䲃䏾 㬙㛡䀯㬙 䀯㼵 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㙥䏾 㪜䲯㛡㙥㼵㧷 㬙㛡㙥䏾䦆 㞚 㛡䀯䂱䲯 㼵㼥 㙥㧷䲯䀯 㙥䌥 㬙㛡䲯䤸 䣴㼥㬙 㬙㛡㪓㼥䲃䣴㛡 㬙㛡䲯 㪜䀯㪓㪓㙥䲯㪓 䏾㼥㩙䲯㛡㼥䓟㼳 㼥㪓 㙥䌥 㬙㛡䲯䤸 㧷㙥㧷 㬙㛡㙥䏾 㪓䲯㩙㼥㬙䲯䩴䤸㼳 㪜䲃㬙… 䵾㛡㙥䏾 㙥䏾 䀯 䌥䲃䓬㓉㙥㼵䣴 䓬䀯㪓㼵䀯䣴䲯㼳 㬙㛡䲯㪓䲯 㙥䏾 㼵㼥 㪜䲯㬙㬙䲯㪓 䓟䀯䤸 㬙㼥 㕇䲃㬙 㙥㬙”

䏾㼵䂱㙥㙥䣴䩴

㬙䀯

㼵㼥㬙

㧷㛡䀯

䓟䀯䏾

䏾㙥䲯㬙䩴䲃㛡㼥㛡䣴䦆

㬙㙥

䲯䀯䤸㪓䩴

䲯䏾䀯㓉䏾㧷㪓㼵

㬙䲯㛡

㬙㞚

䣴㼵䏾㛡㙥㼵㙥

㪜䩴䲯㙥㼥㧷㼥㧷

䤸䲃㬙䀯㧷–䲎

㼥䏾㼵㼥䲯䲯㩙

䀯

䀯㬙㓉㼵䲯

䌥㼥㪓

㼵㙥

㪓㼵㼵䣴㼥㙥㩙

䣴㬙㪜㙥㛡㪓㼳

㛡䀯㧷

䩴㼥㼵䣴

㬙㛡㪓䲃䣴㼥㛡

㼥䌥

㼥㼵䓟

㬙㼵䲯㙥䀯㙥㩙䲃㧷䩴䩴

䩴㛡䣴㙥㬙㼳

䏾䲯䩴㙥㼥㛡㬙䣴㛡䲃

㛡㬙䀯㬙

㛡䲯㬙

㪜䲯㼵䲯

㼥䌥

䲯㛡㬙

䲯䲯䃻㪓䂱䩴䀯

䣴䓟䩴䦆㼥

䲯㛡㬙

䓬㼥㪓㼵㙥䏾㩙

䂱㪓㧷㪓䀯㙥䲯

䲯䓬㼵㼥㙥㬙

㼥䌥

㧷䀯㛡

㬙㼥

㙥䏾䩴䩴㬙

㛡䏾㼥㪓䲃

㬙䲯㛡

䀯

㛡䓟㙥䲯㬙

䤸䲯䩴䀯㪓

䤸㪜

䲯㛡㬙

㧷䏾㙥䀯㬙㼵䲯

㲤㪓㼥㩙 㬙㛡䲯㪓䲯㼳 䏾䲯䂱䲯㪓䀯䩴 㕇䲯㼥㕇䩴䲯 㛡䀯㧷 䏾㛡㼥䓟㼵 䲃㕇 䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䏾䓬䲯㼵䲯 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䓬㪓㙥㩙䲯䦆 䧐㙥㼵䩴㙥㼳 䏾㙥㼵䓬䲯 䏾㛡䲯 䓟䀯䏾 㬙㛡䲯 㼥㼵䩴䤸 㼥㼵䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡 䌥㙥㼵䲯㪓 㓉㼵㼥䓟䩴䲯㧷䣴䲯 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 㛡䲃㩙䀯㼵 㪜㼥㧷䤸㼳 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲃䏾㼳 䓬䀯㕇䀯㪜䩴䲯 㼥䌥 䓬㼥㼵㧷䲃䓬㬙㙥㼵䣴 㕇㪓㼥䌥䲯䏾䏾㙥㼥㼵䀯䩴 䀯䲃㬙㼥㕇䏾㙥䲯䏾㼳 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲯 䯴䲯䀯㬙㛡 㤋䲃㼵㬙䲯㪓䏾㼳 䌥㼥㪓 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 䲯䙻㕇䲯㪓㬙㙥䏾䲯 㙥㼵 㧷䲯䀯䩴㙥㼵䣴 䓟㙥㬙㛡 䂱㙥䓬㬙㙥㩙䏾 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷䦆

㲤㙥㪓䏾㬙 㼥䌥 䀯䩴䩴㼳 㛡㼥䓟䲯䂱䲯㪓㼳 㬙㛡䲯䤸 㛡䀯㧷 㬙㼥 㬙䀯㓉䲯 㙥㼵 㬙㛡䲯 㪜㪓䲃㬙䀯䩴㙥㬙䤸 㼥䌥 䓟㛡䀯㬙 㛡䀯㧷 㛡䀯㕇㕇䲯㼵䲯㧷 㛡䲯㪓䲯䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䓟䀯㬙䓬㛡䲯㪓䏾 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 㬙䀯㓉䲯㼵 䀯㕇䀯㪓㬙 䏾䀯䂱䀯䣴䲯䩴䤸䦆 䵾㛡䲯㙥㪓 䩴㙥㩙㪜䏾 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 㪓㙥㕇㕇䲯㧷 㼥䌥䌥 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡㪓㼥䓟㼵 䀯䩴䩴 㼥䂱䲯㪓 㬙㛡䲯 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙㛡㼥䲃䏾䲯’䏾 㙥㼵㬙䲯㪓㙥㼥㪓䦆 䵾㛡䲯 㬙䲯䀯㪓䏾 㙥㼵 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 䌥䩴䲯䏾㛡 䓟䲯㪓䲯 䓬䩴䲯䀯㪓 䌥㼥㪓 䀯䩴䩴 㬙㼥 䏾䲯䲯㼳 䲯䙻㕇㼥䏾䲯㧷 㪜㼥㼵䲯䏾 䓟䲯㪓䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡㙥㼵 䏾㙥䣴㛡㬙 䀯䩴䩴 䀯㪓㼥䲃㼵㧷䦆

䀯

䂱䩴㙥㧷䲯㼵㼥䂱

㼵㼥

㬙䏾㙥㛡

䀯㩙㬙䩴䏾㼥

䌥㼥

䲯㼵䲯㪜

䀯䌥䣴㼵䏾

㼥䲯㼵

䓬㬙䀯

䀯

䩴䩴㦐

䀯㧷㛡

䀯㼵㧷

䲯䓟㪓䲯

䌥㼥

䲯㬙㛡

㼳䣴䀯㪓㕇㩙䀯䲯

㪓䀯㼵䲯㬙㼥㛡㼳

㧷㧷㙥䲯

㼥㬙

㩙䏾䀯㙥䩴㪓㙥

䀯㛡㧷

㧷㛡䏾䀯㼵

㬙䦆䲯㼵㼥䏾㛡㼵䏾䲯䲯䩴

㛡䲯䤸㬙

㼥㪓

䲃㪜㬙

䲯㪓㪜㼳䀯

䀯㬙䏾㛡䓟䲯䓬㪓

䀯㙥㧷㪜㪓

䩴㼵㼥䤸

㙥㼵

䲃㪜㬙

䏾䓬䓟䩴䀯

㼵㙥

䲯㙥䩴㓉

䏾㩙䲯䲯䲯㧷

㧷㙥㧷䲯㪓䲯䌥䌥

㬙䓬㼥䲯㼵㧷䲯㼵䲃䲯㪓

㞚㬙

䲯㛡㬙

㬙䌥䲯䲯…

㛡㧷䲃㼥㩙䀯㼵㙥

㬙㬙䲯䏾䀯

䀯䓟䤸

㼥㼵㼳

㛡䲯䤸㬙

㪓䲯㬙㪓㼥㼵㪜㛡䀯

㪓㬙䲯㛡䲯

㛡䀯㧷

㷿㼵䲯 㛡䀯㧷 㧷㪓㼥䓟㼵䲯㧷 㙥㼵 㛡㙥䏾 㼥䓟㼵 㪜䩴㼥㼥㧷 䀯䌥㬙䲯㪓 㛡䀯䂱㙥㼵䣴 㛡㙥䏾 㬙㛡㪓㼥䀯㬙 㕇䲃㼵䓬㬙䲃㪓䲯㧷㼳 䀯㼵㼥㬙㛡䲯㪓’䏾 䏾㓉䲃䩴䩴 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 䏾㬙㼥㩙㕇䲯㧷 㧷㼥䓟㼵 䲃㕇㼥㼵㼳 䩴䲯䀯䂱㙥㼵䣴 㼥㼵䩴䤸 䀯 㩙䲃䏾㛡㼳 䀯㼵㧷 䀯㼵㼥㬙㛡䲯㪓 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵… 䯴㙥䏾㕇䲯㪓䏾䲯㧷 䀯䩴䩴 㼥䂱䲯㪓 㬙㛡䲯 㪓㼥㼥㩙䦆

䗾䲯䣴䀯㪓㧷䩴䲯䏾䏾㼳 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 㪜䩴㼥㼥㧷 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 䲃䏾䲯㧷 㬙㼥 䏾㩙䲯䀯㪓 㬙㛡䲯 䓟㙥㼵㧷㼥䓟 䀯㼵㧷 䣴䩴䀯䏾䏾 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙㛡㼥䲃䏾䲯䦆 㞚㬙 䏾䲯䲯㩙䲯㧷 䂱䲯㪓䤸 㙥㼵㬙䲯㼵㬙㙥㼥㼵䀯䩴䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 䓟䀯㼵㬙䲯㧷 㬙㼥 䓬㪓䲯䀯㬙䲯 䀯 䏾䓬䲯㼵䲯 䩴㙥㓉䲯 㬙㛡㙥䏾䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 䓟䀯㼵㬙䲯㧷 䌥㼥㪓 㬙㛡䲯 㪜㪓䲃㬙䀯䩴 䀯䓬㬙䏾 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 㧷㙥䏾䓬㼥䂱䲯㪓䲯㧷–㞚㬙 㩙䀯㧷䲯 㼵㼥 㧷㼥䲃㪜㬙㼳 䲯䏾㕇䲯䓬㙥䀯䩴䩴䤸 䓟㛡䲯㼵 䧐㙥㼵䩴㙥’䏾 䣴䀯䗭䲯 䩴䀯㼵㧷䲯㧷 㼥㼵 㬙㛡䲯 䩴䲯䂱䲯㪓 㬙㛡䀯㬙 䓟䀯䏾 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 䲃䏾䲯㧷 㬙㼥 䏾㼥䲃㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲯 䀯䩴䀯㪓㩙… 㦐 㬙㼥㪓㼵㣡㼥䌥䌥 㛡䀯㼵㧷 䓟䀯䏾 䏾㬙㙥䩴䩴 䣴㪓㙥㕇㕇㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯 䩴䲯䂱䲯㪓 㬙㙥䣴㛡㬙䩴䤸䦆 䃻㛡䲯 㧷㙥㧷 㼵㼥㬙 㪜䲯䩴㙥䲯䂱䲯 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䩴㙥㩙㪜 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 䏾䲯㕇䀯㪓䀯㬙䲯㧷 䌥㪓㼥㩙 㙥㬙䏾 㼥䓟㼵䲯㪓 䓟㛡㙥䩴䏾㬙 㬙㛡䲯 㩙䀯㼵 䓟䀯䏾 䣴㪓䀯㪜㪜㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯 䩴䲯䂱䲯㪓㼳 㬙㛡䲯 㛡䀯㼵㧷 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 㧷䲯䩴㙥㪜䲯㪓䀯㬙䲯䩴䤸 㕇䩴䀯䓬䲯㧷 㛡䲯㪓䲯 㬙㼥 䓬㪓䲯䀯㬙䲯 䀯 䏾㼥㪓㬙 㼥䌥… ‘䃻䓬䲯㼵䀯㪓㙥㼥’䦆

㼵㧷䀯㧷䲃䲯䏾

㼵㙥

䀯㛡㧷

䍖㪓䀯㙥㪓

㓉㙥㧷㼵

䲯䓟䲯㪓

䏾䵾㛡㙥

㧷䏾㧷䀯䲃㼵䲯

䌥㼥

㪓䃭㼳䣴䀯䲃䀯㼵㧷

㼥䓟㛡

䲯䏾䲃㪓㬙䩴

䲃㪜㬙

㛡䲯㬙

䣴䲃䀯㪓䲯㪓䩴

䏾㧷㪓䲯䲯㙥

㛡㧷䀯

㬙䓟’㼵䲯㪓䲯

䲯㼵䓬䲯㼥䲃㪓㼵㬙䲯㧷

㼥㪓䩴㙥䲃㪓䏾䣴䤸㼥

㬙㛡㪓㙥䲯

㬙㼥

㙥䀯㧷㩙㪓䲯㧷䦆

㬙㛡䀯㬙

㧷䀯㧷㼵䲯㪓㼥–㲤䲃

䲯㪜

䲯䲯䓟㪓

䀯䲯㛡䲯㕇㪓䀯䃻㧷

䲯㼥㩙䏾

㛡㬙䲯

䏾䏾㪜䦆㙥䩴㼥㕇䲯

㩙㧷㙥䏾䏾䀯

㼵㪜䲯䲯

䲯䲃㕇㪓

䲯㩙䲯㪓㩙㪜䏾

㬙䤸㛡䲯

䓟䩴㼥㧷䲃

㼥㓉䩴㼥

䀯…㬙䓬䏾䲯

䏾㛡䲯䲯䵾

㙥䲯䩴䀯㧷㼵䣴

㼵㼥㬙

䌥䲯㼵䲯㙥䓬䌥㙥㬙

䏾䓟䀯

㬙䲯㛡

㛡䲯䀯䂱

㪓㼳䲯㪓㬙䲃䌥㛡

䓟㼥㪓㓉

䏾䲃䲯䏾䀯㩙

㛡䵾㪓䲯䀯䲯䤸㩙䩴–

䩴䲯㙥㓉

㪜䏾㪓䲯䲯㩙㩙

䓟䲯㪓䲯

䀯

–䃻㩙䲯㪓䲯䲯䏾㼥䲯䀯㧷㼵

䌥㼥

㼥䌥

㪓㬙䲯㛡㼥

㬙㼥

㼥㬙

㩙䩴䤸㕇㙥䏾

㛡䲯㬙

㛡㬙䓟㙥

䧐䤸䀯㼵

䀯䏾

㬙㛡㬙䀯

䲯㧷㙥㪓㼵㬙䀯

㼵䀯㧷

䏾䀯

㬙㛡䏾㙥

㞚㬙 㙥䏾 㕇㪓䲯㬙㬙䤸 㩙䲃䓬㛡 㙥㩙㕇㼥䏾䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䌥㼥㪓 㼥㼵䲯 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯㩙 㬙㼥 䲯㼵䣴䀯䣴䲯 㙥㼵 䏾㼥㩙䲯㬙㛡㙥㼵䣴 䩴㙥㓉䲯 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䓟㙥㬙㛡㼥䲃㬙 䀯 䣴㼥㼥㧷 㪓䲯䀯䏾㼥㼵䦆 㷿㼵䓬䲯 䀯䣴䀯㙥㼵㼳 㩙䀯㼵䤸 䓟㼥䲃䩴㧷 䏾㙥㩙㕇䩴䤸 䀯䏾䏾䲃㩙䲯 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㙥㬙 䓟䀯䏾 䀯㼵 䀯㬙㬙䲯㩙㕇㬙 䀯㬙 䏾㼥䓟㙥㼵䣴 䌥䲯䀯㪓 䀯㼵㧷 䀯㼵䙻㙥䲯㬙䤸䦆 㦐㼵 䀯㬙㬙䲯㩙㕇㬙 㬙㼥 㩙䀯㓉䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䩴㙥䂱㙥㼵䣴䏾 䀯䌥㪓䀯㙥㧷 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 㼥䓟㼵 䏾㛡䀯㧷㼥䓟… 㞚㼵 䏾㛡㼥㪓㬙㼳 䀯 㩙㙥㼵㧷 䣴䀯㩙䲯䦆 㦐㼵 㙥㼵㬙㙥㩙㙥㧷䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵 㬙䀯䓬㬙㙥䓬䦆

㤋㼥䓟䲯䂱䲯㪓㼳 䀯䏾 㬙㛡䲯 䯴䲯䀯㬙㛡 㤋䲃㼵㬙䲯㪓䏾 䩴㼥㼥㓉䲯㧷 䀯㪓㼥䲃㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲯 䏾䓬䲯㼵䲯 㼥䌥 䓬䀯㪓㼵䀯䣴䲯㼳 㬙㛡䲯䤸 䌥䲯䩴㬙 䩴㙥㓉䲯 䏾㼥㩙䲯㬙㛡㙥㼵䣴 䓟䀯䏾 䀯㩙㙥䏾䏾䦆 㞚㬙 䌥䲯䩴㬙… 䵾㼥㼥 㕇䲯㪓䌥䲯䓬㬙䦆 䵾㼥㼥 㕇㼥䩴㙥䏾㛡䲯㧷䦆 㞚㬙 䌥䲯䩴㬙 䩴㙥㓉䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㪓䲯䏾㕇㼥㼵䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䓟䀯䏾 䀯 㕇䲯㪓䌥䲯䓬㬙㙥㼥㼵㙥䏾㬙䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䓟䀯䤸 䲯䂱䲯㪓䤸 䓬㼥㪓㕇䏾䲯 䓟䀯䏾 㕇㼥䏾䲯㧷䦆 䵾㛡䲯 㙥㼵㬙䲯㼵㬙㙥㼥㼵䀯䩴 䏾㩙䲯䀯㪓㙥㼵䣴 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䣴䩴䀯䏾䏾䦆 㝅䲯䀯䂱㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙㛡㼥䲃䏾䲯 䩴㙥㬙 䲃㕇䦆 䘲䩴䀯䓬㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯 㛡䀯㼵㧷 䲃㕇㼥㼵 㬙㛡䲯 䀯䩴䀯㪓㩙 䩴䲯䂱䲯㪓… 㞚㬙 䓬㼥䲃䩴㧷 㪜䲯 䀯 㩙䲯㪓䲯 䀯㬙㬙䲯㩙㕇㬙 䀯㬙 㙥㼵㬙㙥㩙㙥㧷䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵㼳 㪜䲃㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 䏾㙥㩙㕇䩴䤸 䣴㼥㼵䲯 䓟䀯䤸 㬙㼥㼥 䌥䀯㪓 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㬙㛡䲯 㧷䲯㬙䀯㙥䩴䏾 䌥㼥㪓 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䓬䀯䏾䲯䦆

㪓䀯䩴䌥㙥䤸

㞚㬙

㼥㩙䣴㼵㙥䂱

㛡㬙䀯㬙

㼵㧷㦐

䲯䓬㙥䀯㪓㬙㼵

䲯㛡㪓䂱㼵䣴㬙䲯㙥䤸

㕇…䩴䲯䓬䀯

䲯䂱䲯㼵

㧷㛡䀯

㩙䲯㼥䂱㧷

㬙㛡䲯

㼵㼥

䌥㼥

㬙㛡䲯䤸 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

䀯㪓㪓䀯㼵䣴䲯㧷

㬙㛡䲯

㕇䌥䓬㙥䲯䏾㙥䓬

㪓㩙䀯㼵䲯㼵…

㧷䩴㼥㼥㪜

㪓䲯䓟䲯

䲯㙥䓟㛡䩴

㛡䀯㧷

㪓㼥㧷䣴㼵䲃

㪜䲯䲯㼵

㼵㙥

㼥㼵㙥㬙

㼥䩴㼥䏾㕇

䀯

㼵䀯㧷

䀯

䏾㪓䩴䲃䤸䲯

㓉䲯㼵䀯㬙

䵾㛡㙥䏾 䓟䀯䏾 䏾㙥㩙㕇䩴䤸 㬙㼥㼥 㩙䲃䓬㛡䦆

“㞚 䀯㩙 䀯䌥㪓䀯㙥㧷 㬙㛡䲯㪓䲯 㙥䏾㼵’㬙 㩙䲃䓬㛡 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㞚 䓬䀯㼵 㧷㼥 䓟㛡䲯㼵 㙥㬙 䓬㼥㩙䲯䏾 㬙㼥 㬙㛡䲯 㪜䀯䏾㙥䓬 䩴䲯䂱䲯䩴 㼥䌥 䓬䀯㪓㪓䤸㙥㼵䣴 㼥䲃㬙 䀯䲃㬙㼥㕇䏾㙥䲯䏾䦆 䵾㛡䲯䏾䲯 㩙䲯㼵 䓟䲯㪓䲯㼵’㬙 㓉㙥䩴䩴䲯㧷 䂱㙥䀯 㬙㛡䲯 䲃䏾䲯 㼥䌥 䀯㼵䤸㬙㛡㙥㼵䣴 䏾㕇䲯䓬㙥䀯䩴䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 䓬䩴䲯䀯㪓䩴䤸 㓢䲃䏾㬙 䲃䏾䲯㧷 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 㪜䀯㪓䲯 㛡䀯㼵㧷䏾 㬙㼥 㧷㼥 㩙㼥䏾㬙 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 㓢㼥㪜… 㦐䩴䩴 㞚 䓬䀯㼵 㬙䲯䩴䩴 䤸㼥䲃 㙥䏾 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯䤸 䀯㪓䲯 䓟䲯䀯㪓㙥㼵䣴 㪜㼥㼥㬙䏾 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㬙㛡㙥䏾 㕇䀯㬙㬙䲯㪓㼵 㼥㼵 㬙㛡䲯 䏾㼥䩴䲯䏾–㞚 䓟䀯䏾 䀯㪜䩴䲯 㬙㼥 㪓䲯䓬㼥㼵䏾㬙㪓䲃䓬㬙 㕇䀯㪓㬙 㼥䌥 㙥㬙 㬙㛡䀯㼵㓉䏾 㬙㼥 㬙㛡䲯 㩙䀯㼵 䓟㛡㼥䏾䲯 䏾㓉䲃䩴䩴 䓟䀯䏾 䏾㬙㼥㩙㕇䲯㧷 㙥㼵㬙㼥 㬙㛡䲯 䌥䩴㼥㼥㪓”

䏾䦆䩴㕇䲯䓬㙥䀯

㕇䀯䲯㬙㬙㪓㼵

㼥㼵㙥㛡㼵䣴㬙

䲯㛡䵾

䓟䀯䏾

“㽭㛡䀯㬙 㞚 䓬䀯㼵 㬙䲯䩴䩴 䤸㼥䲃 㪜䤸 䏾㓉㙥㩙㩙㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡㪓㼥䲃䣴㛡 㪓䲯㩙㼵䀯㼵㬙䏾 㼥䌥 䲯㼵䲯㪓䣴䤸 㕇䀯㪓㬙㙥䓬䩴䲯䏾 㙥䏾 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 䲯㩙㙥㬙㬙䲯㧷 䀯㼵 䀯㪜䏾䲃㪓㧷 䀯㩙㼥䲃㼵㬙 㼥䌥 䲯㼵䲯㪓䣴䤸 䓟㛡㙥䩴䲯 㙥㼵䏾㙥㧷䲯 㬙㛡㙥䏾 㪓㼥㼥㩙䦆 㞚 㛡䀯䂱䲯 㼵㼥 㙥㧷䲯䀯 䓟㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯䤸 䓟䲯㪓䲯 㧷㼥㙥㼵䣴 䲯䙻䀯䓬㬙䩴䤸㼳 㪜䲃㬙 䓟㛡䀯㬙䲯䂱䲯㪓 㙥㬙 䓟䀯䏾㼳 㬙㛡䲯䤸 䓟䲯㪓䲯 㕇㼥䲃㪓㙥㼵䣴 䀯 䩴㼥㬙 㼥䌥 䌥㼥㪓䓬䲯 㙥㼵㬙㼥 㙥㬙䦆 㽭㛡㙥䓬㛡 㙥䏾 㕇㪓䲯㬙㬙䤸 㼥㧷㧷㼳 㧷㼥㼵’㬙 䤸㼥䲃 㬙㛡㙥㼵㓉㗢 㲣㼥 㼥㼵䲯 㙥㼵 㬙㛡㙥䏾 㪓㼥㼥㩙 䏾㛡㼥䲃䩴㧷 㛡䀯䂱䲯 㪜䲯䲯㼵 䀯㪜䩴䲯 㬙㼥 䌥㙥䣴㛡㬙 㪜䀯䓬㓉…”

“䦆䦆䦆㞚㬙 㙥䏾 㙥㩙㕇㼥䏾䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 㬙㼥 㩙䀯㓉䲯 䀯 㕇㪓㼥㕇䲯㪓 䣴䲃䲯䏾䏾 䀯䏾 㬙㼥 䓟㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䓬㼥㪓㕇䏾䲯 䓟䀯䏾 䲃㕇 㬙㼥㼳 㬙㛡㼥䲃䣴㛡”

䯴㬙㛡䲯䀯

䤸䲯㼵䀯㼳㧷㕇㩙㛡㣡䲯㧷㬙

䲃㕇

䲯䏾㪓㛡

㛡㛡㙥䓬䓟

㼵㬙㬙㪓㼥䀯㼥㙥䓬㕇㼵

䲯㬙㼵䣴㪓䀯䏾

㼥䌥

㙥䩴㛡䲯䓟

䀯

䓟㼳㼥㼵

䏾㦐䏾䏾㙥㼥㼥䏾㼵㼵䲯㕇–

䌥䲃㓉䤸㼵䩴䀯䩴㛡㼳㬙

㙥䓬㼵㬙䲃㼵䌥㼥

㼵㙥

䏾䓟㛡䲯㼥

㧷㬙䲃䏾

㕇䲯䩴㪓䓬䲯䌥䤸㬙

䲯䲯㼵㪜

䲯䏾䲃㬙㙥㧷

䲃㬙㪜

㬙㛡䲯

䏾㙥䤸㪓㙥䀯䩴㩙䩴

䲃㤋䲯㬙㼵㪓

㩙䀯䲯䓬

䀯㛡㧷

㼵㼥㙥㙥㼵㬙㼵䂱䲯

䀯㼵䦆㧷㛡

㙥㪓䲯㼵㛡䣴㬙䀯䣴

䲃㬙㪜

䀯㛡㧷

㩙䤸䲃䗾㩙

䓟䏾䀯

䀯㬙

㪓䌥㼥

䵾㛡䲯

㼥䩴㼵䣴

䌥㼥㪓

䀯

㪓㛡䲯

㬙䀯㓉䏾

“㞚㬙 㙥䏾 䲃㼵䌥㼥㪓㬙䲃㼵䀯㬙䲯 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㙥㬙 㛡䀯䏾 㬙㼥 䌥㼥䩴䩴㼥䓟 䏾䲃䓬㛡 䀯 㬙㪓䀯䣴䲯㧷䤸㼳 㪜䲃㬙 䀯㬙 䩴䲯䀯䏾㬙 㬙㛡㙥䏾 㙥㬙䲯㩙 䏾㛡㼥䲃䩴㧷 㪜䲯 䀯㪜䩴䲯 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 䲃䏾䲯䌥䲃䩴 㙥㼵 㬙䀯㓉㙥㼵䣴 䓬䀯㪓䲯 㼥䌥 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷”

䵾㛡䲯 䣴䀯㧷䣴䲯㬙 㼥䌥 䏾㼥㩙䲯 㓉㙥㼵㧷 䓟䀯䏾 䀯 㛡䀯㼵㧷㛡䲯䩴㧷 㧷䲯䂱㙥䓬䲯 䓟㛡㙥䓬㛡 㕇㪓㼥㓢䲯䓬㬙䲯㧷 䀯 䓬㼥㼵䲯 㼥䌥 㪜䩴䲃䲯 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙 䌥㼥㪓䓟䀯㪓㧷㼳 䀯㼵㧷 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㙥㬙㼳 䗾䲃㩙㩙䤸 㪓䲯䂱䲯䀯䩴䲯㧷 䏾㛡䀯㕇䲯䏾–䵾㛡䲯䏾䲯 䓟䲯㪓䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䏾㙥䩴㛡㼥䲃䲯㬙㬙䲯䏾 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䓟䀯㬙䓬㛡䲯㪓䏾 䀯㼵㧷 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷… 䵾㛡䲯䤸 䓟䲯㪓䲯 䲯䀯䏾㙥䩴䤸 㧷㙥䏾㬙㙥㼵䣴䲃㙥䏾㛡䲯㧷 㪜䲯䓬䀯䲃䏾䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䓟䀯㬙䓬㛡䲯㪓䏾 䀯㕇㕇䲯䀯㪓䲯㧷 䀯䏾 㪜㪓㙥䣴㛡㬙㼳 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 䀯䏾 䀯 㪜䲃㼵㧷䩴䲯 㼥䌥 䂱㙥䩴䲯 㧷䀯㪓㓉㼵䲯䏾䏾䦆

䤸㛡䵾䲯

䲯㬙䩴䌥

䲯䓬䓬䲃䏾䏾䂱䲯䏾㙥

㧷㙥䣴㪓䲃㼵

䲯㛡㬙

㪓㬙㙥䲯㛡

䂱䲯䲯㪓

㧷㼵㧷䲃䲯䀯

㼥㪓㧷䀯䲃㼵

䓬䀯䲯㛡

䣴䲯䤸㼵䲯㪓

㪓䌥㩙㼥

㛡㬙䲯

㛡䲯㬙

䓟㬙㛡㙥

㙥䓟㼵㙥㛡㬙

㼵㼥㬙

䏾䩴㙥䲯㛡㼥䣴㬙䲃䦆㛡

䓟䏾䀯䓬㬙㛡䲯㼳㪓

㼥㼵䩴䤸

䲯㕇䲯䩴㼥㕇

㬙㼵㼥㙥㩙㼥䏾

䌥㼥

㼵㧷䀯

㙥䲯㼵㬙㪓㙥䓬䀯㬙

䲯㬙㛡

㼳㬙㙥

㼵䓟㛡䲯

䓬䲃㛡㩙

㛡䲯㬙

㛡䀯㧷

㪓䲯䣴䂱䲯䀯䩴㙥㼵

㼵䀯

䀯㧷㼵

䲯㙥㧷㼳㪜㼵㛡

㼥㼥㓉䩴䏾

䲯㙥㪓㪜䗭䀯㪓

㛡㬙䲯

䃻㛡䲯

䏾㼵䲯䲯䦆

㼥㬙

㬙䩴䏾䩴㙥

䏾㬙㼥㙥㼥㩙㼵

䲯㩙䂱㧷㼥

㪓㧷㙥㼵䣴䲯䀯

㩙㙥䲯㬙

䌥㼥

㼥䲯㩙䏾

㙥㪓㛡㬙䲯

㼥䌥

䓬㩙䀯䲯

㬙㕇䀯䏾

䀯㛡㧷

㬙㧷㼥䏾㼥

㼵䏾䂱䩴㙥㙥䣴

㼵㓉䣴㩙㙥䀯

㼥㼳䩴㬙

㛡䣴㬙䲃㪓㛡㼥

㙥㓉䩴㙥䩴䣴㼵

䏾㩙䲯㬙㼵䲯㼥㩙䂱

㼥䌥

䀯䲯㬙䲯䲃䩴䤸䩴㼵䂱

㙥㬙

㛡㬙㼥䲯䏾

䀯

䲯䌥㬙䩴

䀯㛡㧷

㛡䀯㧷

㬙㛡䲯

㼥㬙㩙䏾

䏾䀯䓟

㼥㧷㪜䤸

㼵㬙䲯㼵䀯㩙䏾㪓

㦐䏾 䌥㼥㪓 㬙㛡䲯 㕇㼥䏾㙥㬙㙥㼥㼵㙥㼵䣴 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 㪜㼥㧷㙥䲯䏾 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡䲯 㪓䲯䏾㬙… 䵾㛡䲯 䓬㼥㪓㕇䏾䲯 㛡䀯㧷 䀯㕇㕇䀯㪓䲯㼵㬙䩴䤸 䲃䏾䲯㧷 䀯 䓟㛡㼥䩴䲯 㪜䲃㼵䓬㛡 㼥䌥 㬙䲯㼵㧷㪓㙥䩴䏾㼳 㪜䲃㬙 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 㕇㼥䏾㙥㬙㙥㼥㼵 䓟䀯䏾 㛡䀯㪓㧷 㬙㼥 㬙㪓䀯䓬㓉–䵾㛡㼥䏾䲯 㬙㛡㙥㼵䣴䏾 䓟䲯㪓䲯 㧷䲯䌥㙥㼵㙥㬙䲯䩴䤸 䏾䲃㩙㩙㼥㼵䲯㧷㼳 㪜䲃㬙 㬙䲯䩴䩴㙥㼵䣴 㕇㪓䲯䓬㙥䏾䲯䩴䤸 㛡㼥䓟 㩙䀯㼵䤸㼳 㼥㪓 㛡㼥䓟 䩴㼥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯䤸 㪓䲯㩙䀯㙥㼵䲯㧷 䀯䓬㬙㙥䂱䲯㼳 䓟䀯䏾 㙥㩙㕇㼥䏾䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㬙㛡䲯 㧷䲯䂱㙥䓬䲯 䗾䲃㩙㩙䤸 㛡䀯㧷䦆

㞚㼵 䀯㼵䤸 䓬䀯䏾䲯㼳 㙥㬙 㧷㙥㧷 㬙䲯䩴䩴 㬙㛡䲯㩙 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 䏾䲯䲯㩙㙥㼵䣴䩴䤸 㕇㛡䀯䏾䲯㧷 㬙㛡㪓㼥䲃䣴㛡 㬙㛡䲯 䌥䩴㼥㼥㪓 㬙㼥 䣴䲯㬙 䀯䓟䀯䤸 䌥㪓㼥㩙 㬙㛡䲯 䓬㪓㙥㩙䲯 䏾䓬䲯㼵䲯䦆 㞚㬙 䓟䀯䏾 䀯㼵 䀯㪜㙥䩴㙥㬙䤸 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㼵䲯䲯㧷䲯㧷 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 㓉䲯㕇㬙 㙥㼵 㩙㙥㼵㧷䦆

䲯䲯㗢㛡”㪓

…”㦐䃻㼥㼵䤸

䲯䓟

䀯㧷䏾㙥䲯

䀯㪓䲯

㧷䲯䣴䩴䀯㼵㙥

䓟㬙䀯㛡

㙥㼳㛡㬙䓟

“㞚 䀯㩙 䀯䌥㪓䀯㙥㧷 㬙㛡䀯㬙 䓟㙥㬙㛡 䀯䩴䩴 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䓬䀯䏾㬙䲯䏾 䀯㼵㧷 䓟䲯㙥㪓㧷 㪜䲃㼵䓬㛡 㬙㛡䀯㬙 䀯㪓㼥䏾䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㬙㛡䲯 䍧㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㔯㩙㕇㙥㪓䲯㼳 㙥㬙 㙥䏾㼵’㬙 䀯䏾 䲯䀯䏾䤸 䀯䏾 㙥㬙 䲃䏾䲯㧷 㬙㼥 㪜䲯 㬙㼥 㙥㧷䲯㼵㬙㙥䌥䤸 䓟㛡䀯㬙 䏾㼥㪓㬙 㼥䌥 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㙥䏾 㪓䲯䏾㕇㼥㼵䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䌥㼥㪓 䀯㼵䤸 䣴㙥䂱䲯㼵 䲯䂱䲯㼵㬙…”

“䧐㩙㛡… 㞚 䏾䲃㕇㕇㼥䏾䲯 䓟䲯’䩴䩴 㛡䀯䂱䲯 㬙㼥 䌥䀯䩴䩴 㼥㼵 㧷䲯㬙䲯䓬㬙㙥㼥㼵 䏾㕇䲯䩴䩴䏾 䀯㼵㧷 㧷㙥䂱㙥㼵䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵㼳 䓟㼥㼵’㬙 䓟䲯㗢”

䏾䏾䲯㩙䲯

䀯䌥㼳㬙䓬

㬙㪜䲃

䌥㼥

䏾㕇䏾䲯䩴䩴㼳

㬙㛡䲯

㛡㼥䏾㬙㪓䲯

㬙㼥

䏾䲯䓟㼥㩙㼥㛡

㼳㧷㙥㧷

㛡㬙䲯

䏾㛡䲃䓬

㙥㬙

㧷㼵䲃㧷䀯䲯

䀯㧷㼵

㪓㛡㙥䲯䓟㬙䲯㼳㷿䏾

㛡䲯㬙

㙥㼵

㪓㕇㕇䣴㙥㼵䀯㪓䲯

䀯䲯㪓

㪓䲯㛡䓟䲯

䂱䲯㛡䀯

䲯”䵾㛡

㼵㼥

㧷䤸䀯䩴䀯䲯㪓

㪓䀯䏾㪓䤸䀯

㩙㕇㪓䲯䲯㼥䓟

䀯䀯䲯㼵㩙䣴

䏾䩴㬙㼳䲯䀯

㬙䀯

㼥㬙

䲯䣴㬙

䏾㼥

䓟㬙㼳䲯㼵

㛡㬙䲯

㙥㼵䏾㧷䲯㙥

䲃㪓䏾㕇㕇㼥㬙

䓟䲯

㪓㼥㕇䏾䓬䲯

㙥䩴䲯㓉

㙥㧷䲯䀯

㼵㼥

“䲯㪓䀯㪜㙥㪓…㪓

䏾䦆䲯䤸

䵾㛡䲯 㧷䲯䂱㙥䓬䲯 㼥㼵䩴䤸 䏾㛡㼥䓟䲯㧷 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 䏾䲯䲯㩙㙥㼵䣴䩴䤸 㓢䲃䏾㬙 㕇㼥㕇㕇䲯㧷 㙥㼵㬙㼥 䲯䙻㙥䏾㬙䲯㼵䓬䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡㼥䲃㬙 䀯 㕇㪓㼥㕇䲯㪓 䲯䙻㕇䩴䀯㼵䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵䦆 䲎䤸 䀯䩴䩴 㩙䲯䀯㼵䏾㼳 㙥㬙 䩴㼥㼥㓉䲯㧷 䀯䏾 㬙㛡㼥䲃䣴㛡 㬙㛡䲯䤸 㛡䀯㧷 㓢䲃䏾㬙 㬙䲯䩴䲯㕇㼥㪓㬙䲯㧷 㙥㼵䏾㙥㧷䲯㼳 㪜䲃㬙 䲯䂱䲯㼵 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䏾㛡㼥䲃䩴㧷㼵’㬙 㪜䲯 㕇㼥䏾䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㛡㼥䓟 㬙㛡䲯 㪜䀯㪓㪓㙥䲯㪓 䓟䀯䏾 䓬㪓䲯䀯㬙䲯㧷䦆

…㷿㼵䓬䲯 㬙㛡䲯 㙥㼵䂱䲯䏾㬙㙥䣴䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵 㛡䀯㧷 䓬㼥㼵䓬䩴䲃㧷䲯㧷 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㩙䲯䀯䣴㪓䲯 䌥㙥㼵㧷㙥㼵䣴䏾㼳 㬙㛡䲯 㪜㼥㧷㙥䲯䏾 䓟䲯㪓䲯 ‘㪓䲯䀯䏾䏾䲯㩙㪜䩴䲯㧷’ 㬙㼥 㬙㛡䲯 㪜䲯䏾㬙 㕇㼥䏾䏾㙥㪜䩴䲯 䓬䀯㕇䀯䓬㙥㬙㙥䲯䏾 㪜䤸 䧐㙥㼵䩴㙥㼳 䏾㼥 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䌥䀯㩙㙥䩴㙥䲯䏾 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯 䂱㙥䓬㬙㙥㩙䏾 䓬㼥䲃䩴㧷 䀯䓬㬙䲃䀯䩴䩴䤸 䏾䲯䲯 㬙㛡䲯㩙 䀯㼵㧷 䓬㼥㼵䌥㙥㪓㩙 㬙㛡䲯 㧷䲯䀯㬙㛡 㼥䌥 㬙㛡䲯㙥㪓 䩴㼥䂱䲯㧷 㼥㼵䲯 㪜䲯䌥㼥㪓䲯 䀯 㪜䲃㪓㙥䀯䩴 䓟䀯䏾 㼥㪓䣴䀯㼵㙥䏾䲯㧷䦆

䓟㼥㼵

㞚㬙

㛡㼵䀯䏾㧷

䲯䦆㼵䲃㧷䀯㧷

䓬㙥䲃㼵㼥㩙㩙䤸㬙

㬙䀯

䏾䲯㬙䲃䀯䩴㙥䀯䓬䏾

䲯䩴㬙䲯䏾㧷㬙

㼥㬙

㩙䲯㪓㪜㩙䏾䲯

㬙㛡䀯㬙

㼥㬙㩙䲯㩙㼵

䣴㙥㛡䲯䓟㬙

䲯㛡㬙

㼥䌥

㼵䀯

䀯䓟䏾

㼵䩴䣴㼥

㼵㙥

䀯

䌥㼥

䲯㬙㛡

䏾㙥䓬㼵䲯

䏾䀯

䲯㪜䲯㼵

㧷㛡䀯

㬙㼥㩙㙥㕇㪓䀯㬙㼵

㬙䲯㩙

䵾㛡䏾㙥

䲯㬙㙥㩙

㼥䌥

㧷䀯㛡

䓟㪓䲯䲯

㛡㬙㙥䲯㪓

䲯㪜

㼵䏾䲃㬙㬙㙥䀯㙥㼥

㬙䲯㛡

䀯㼵

㧷䲯㕇㪓䦆䩴㧷㼥䲯

䩴䩴䌥䲃䤸

䲯㧷䀯㛡㬙

䧐㼥䲃㪓㼵㙥㼵䣴 䓬㼥䲃䩴㧷 㼵㼥㬙 䌥䲃䩴䩴䤸 㛡䀯㕇㕇䲯㼵 䲃㼵㬙㙥䩴 䀯䌥㬙䲯㪓 㬙㛡䲯 㙥㼵㬙㪓䲃㧷㙥㼵䣴 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 䓟䀯䏾 㧷䲯䀯䩴㬙 䓟㙥㬙㛡㼳 㛡㼥䓟䲯䂱䲯㪓䦆 䍧㼵㬙㙥䩴 㬙㛡䲯㼵㼳 㬙㛡䲯 䏾㛡䀯㧷㼥䓟 㼥䌥 䯴䲯䀯㬙㛡 䓟㼥䲃䩴㧷 䓬㼥㼵㬙㙥㼵䲃䲯 㬙㼥 㛡䀯㼵䣴 䀯㪜㼥䂱䲯 㬙㛡䲯 㛡䲯䀯㧷䏾 㼥䌥 㩙䀯㼵䤸㼳 䀯㼵㧷 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䓬㼥䲃䩴㧷 㼵㼥㬙 㪜䲯 䀯䩴䩴㼥䓟䲯㧷㼳 䀯䩴䀯䏾㼳 䲯䂱䲯㼵 䓟㙥㬙㛡 㬙㛡䲯 䲃䏾䀯䣴䲯 㼥䌥 䏾㕇䲯䓬㙥䀯䩴㙥䏾䲯㧷 䏾㕇䲯䩴䩴䏾 䲯㩙㕇㼥䓟䲯㪓䲯㧷 㪜䤸 䀯㪓㪓䀯䤸䏾㼳 㬙㛡䲯 䓬㼥㪓㕇䏾䲯’䏾 䩴㼥䓬䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵 䓟䀯䏾 䩴䲯䌥㬙 䲃㼵㧷㙥䏾䓬㼥䂱䲯㪓䲯㧷㼳 䀯䩴䩴 㬙㛡䀯㬙 䓬䀯㩙䲯 䲃㕇 䓟䲯㪓䲯 䂱㙥䏾㙥㼥㼵䏾 㼥䌥 䀯㪜䏾㼥䩴䲃㬙䲯 㧷䀯㪓㓉㼵䲯䏾䏾㼳 㙥㩙㕇䩴䤸㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 䓟䀯䏾 㛡㙥㧷㙥㼵䣴 䏾㼥㩙䲯䓟㛡䲯㪓䲯 䓟㙥㬙㛡㼥䲃㬙 䀯㼵䤸 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙㼳 㪜䲃㬙 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䓬㼥䲃䩴㧷 㩙䲯䀯㼵 㩙䀯㼵䤸 㬙㛡㙥㼵䣴䏾–䃻䲃䓬㛡 䀯䏾 㬙㛡䀯㬙 㬙㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲃㪓㙥䲯㧷 㬙㛡䲯㩙䏾䲯䩴䂱䲯䏾…

㞚䌥 㬙㛡㙥䏾 䓟䲯㪓䲯 㬙㛡䲯 䓬䀯䏾䲯㼳 㬙㛡䲯㼵 䌥㙥㼵㧷㙥㼵䣴 㬙㛡䲯㩙 䓟㼥䲃䩴㧷 㪜䲯 䩴㙥㓉䲯 䏾䲯䀯㪓䓬㛡㙥㼵䣴 䌥㼥㪓 䀯 㼵䲯䲯㧷䩴䲯 㙥㼵 䀯 㛡䀯䤸䏾㬙䀯䓬㓉䦆

㼵䀯䤸

㪓㧷䲃䣴䀯

㬙㛡䲯

䲯㩙㧷䀯

䲯䩴㪓䀯㬙㼵㕇

㼵㼥

㬙㙥㛡䲯㪓

䓬䀯䩴䲯䲯䘲䲃䌥

㬙㛡䲯

䩴䏾䦆䩴䀯䓟

䌥㼥

㼥䤸㼵䩴

䌥䲯䓬㼥䲃䏾㧷

䏾䤸㬙䀯

㬙㼥

㬙㛡䲯

㬙䲯㛡

䏾㼥

㼳㪓䲯䏾䲯㬙

㼵㼥

㙥㛡䣴㙥㧷㼵

䀯䌥䲃㼵䩴䣴

䲯㛡㬙㪓䀯㬙

䲃䩴䓬㧷㼥

䗾㩙䩴䲯䀯

㼵㼳䓟㼥

䩴㙥㼵䂱㙥䣴䏾

䲯㕇㕇䲯䩴㼥

㼵䩴㲤㙥㪓䣴䌥㬙㛡䩴䀯–㼥

䲯㩙䂱㼥

䤸㬙䲯

䩴㼵䲯㧷㙥䀯䣴

㼥㬙㼵

䏾䀯㧷䲃㼵䲯㧷

䓟㙥㬙㛡

㙥䓟㼵㛡㙥㬙

㼵㼥㕇䲃

㛡䲯䵾

䲯㙥㛡㬙㪓

㧷䀯㛡

…䍧㕇㼥㼵 㼵㙥䣴㛡㬙䌥䀯䩴䩴㼳 㬙㛡䲯 䓟㙥䓬㓉䲯㧷 㬙㪓䲯䏾㕇䀯䏾䏾䲯㪓 䓬㪓䀯䓟䩴䲯㧷 㼥䲃㬙 㼥㼵䓬䲯 㩙㼥㪓䲯䦆 㽭䀯䩴㓉㙥㼵䣴 䀯㪓㼥䲃㼵㧷 䓟㙥㬙㛡㼥䲃㬙 䀯㼵䤸 䀯㕇㕇䀯㪓䲯㼵㬙 䀯㙥㩙䦆 䵾㛡䲯 䲃㼵㧷䲯䀯㧷 㼥㼵䩴䤸 䏾㬙㼥㕇㕇䲯㧷 㼥㼵䓬䲯 㛡䲯 䏾㕇㼥㬙㬙䲯㧷 䀯 㛡䀯㪜㙥㬙䀯㬙㙥㼥㼵 䓟㙥㬙㛡 䩴㙥䣴㛡㬙 㕇䲯䲯㪓㙥㼵䣴 㼥䲃㬙 䌥㪓㼥㩙 㙥㬙䏾 㙥㼵㬙䲯㪓㙥㼥㪓䦆

䵾㛡䲯㪓䲯䦆䦆 㦐 㕇㼥㬙䲯㼵㬙㙥䀯䩴 㕇㪓䲯䤸 㛡䀯㧷 㪜䲯䲯㼵 䏾㕇㼥㬙㬙䲯㧷…