A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 2097: King of the Land - Part 2

Capítulo 2097: King of the Land – Part 2

The white cloth that Lady Blackthorn had given him reddened as it dried off the last of the blood water. Once Oliver was satisfied that it was as clean as he could get it without polishing and sharpening the weapon, he threaded it back inside his unbuckled sheath, and heaved in a deep sigh, allowing the tension to drain ever so slightly from his shoulders.

The sky was darkening, and around him, the men of the Winged Unit were largely unconscious. Their exhaustion had been at its peak the day before. The sheer adrenaline of the first fortress that they had captured had demanded much from their spirits. In the ride to the next castle, their blood had thinned, along with their focus, and the properness of their fatigue had begun to manifest itself. Even a deep sleep within castled walls had not allowed them to fully recover, or even approach it. Their bodies were tired, indeed, but it was their minds and hearts that had truly suffered. The pressures of combat, to face down so many men that had come in search of their lives – that was what truly drove a soldier to exhaustion.

And once more, Oliver had seen them pushed.

“Arise,” he’d told them, striding into their quarters, allowing the spring sunshine in after him, as he swung open a heavy door. “There is work to be done.”

Groans had met him. Men in the midst of dreams were not likely to tell the difference between the voice of their King and the voice of their sergeant. They only knew that a man had disturbed the slumber that they desired so much more of.

Even when they were on their feet, the groans did not abate. If anything, they increased in intensity, when they had felt the physical strain of the day before. Their legs and thighs were particularly sore from a prolonged time in the saddle, and none were excited to hear that they would be riding further, for another castle along the Wyndon border.

“They’ll surely be shocked to hear all that we have achieved,” Edward said deeply, keeping his voice level in the quiet of the forest, to ensure he did not disturb those slumbering men. They hadn’t been particularly happy again to abandon the walls that they had just captured, in order to return to the wild, but Oliver had other thoughts.

A castle in which they were settled was a show of strength – all would know they were there. A forest that they had entered, however, as dense as this one was, covering a few hundred square miles, they were something else entirely. They ceased to be physical entities, and transformed entirely into potential. They were a threat as large as the forest was hidden. They could strike and threaten wherever the trees did conceal them.

“Perhaps,” Oliver said mildly. For both the newly captured castles, he had seen the same strategy – or policy – dealt out as he had in Durem. He’d taken care that the civilians were not harmed. He’d seen the defenders slain swiftly and ably, as soon as they had made their way past the front gate – which once more, did not turn out to be terribly difficult. Especially considering in Nosburg, soldiers were already being mobilised in the field to deal with the distress message from Durem that been sent by crow. Speed had seen them inside the walls more quickly than strategy had.

And once those walls were captured, their defensive capacities were tarnished. The large gates were all burned – then, no special effort was made to hold the settlements. They had left just as quickly as they had come, as if they cared not at all for the progress they were making on the campaign map.

They’d seen four thousand men slain for their work. Four thousand defenders less that the Wyndon King had to summon to support his armies. That was progress worth celebrating, something physical that they could add to the tally of the already captured castles.

Indeed, that was Oliver’s motivation in setting after the capture of the castles in the first place. So he had to wonder why it had become increasingly evident that there was a weakness in what he was achieving.

Perhaps not evident in the sense of the logical. But the warning sign that built up in his chest. A sense for the flow of the battlefield, he supposed. Though this was a far larger battlefield than he had ever fought on. It was a far cry from the single duels that he had once fought. Now his battlefield was the entirety of the Emerson Kingdom that he had captured and declared his own to defend.

With how easily they were running through fortress after fortress, there was the temptation to keep up their efforts. To slay as many men as they could, and to maim as many fortresses as they were able to. There would soon come a point where the Wyndon builders who would be sent to see the repairs done could no longer even threaten to keep up. That ought to be the point in which Oliver found himself at his mightiest.

He might even have stayed in Helem Castle that they’d captured that day. It would have put him in view of another fortress that they might capture along the Wyndon border. He could have rushed through, before the High King managed to mobilise his armies.

Something held him back from doing that, however. Like the darkness that closed in on their current encampment – with not a single fire yet lit, and only wool blankets to keep the slumbering men warm – there was that murky field of the unknown that Oliver could not pierce.

He eyed the dark with ferocity, as if in beating it back with his gaze, he might be able to beat back his current uncertainty.

“You should rest as well, Your Highness,” Lady Blackthorn spoke, her voice coming far too close and far too suddenly that it made Oliver jump.

He grunted in reply, his mind still half elsewhere. In his head, he had a certain idea of the magnitude of the enemy. The man that they called Lord Blake. As a strategist, he was undoubtedly Oliver’s superior. Where Oliver’s advantage actually lay, he knew not. It was difficult to point to recent events, and see just where he had done well. For it could have been that he had already made a fatal blunder that it was difficult to come back from.

擄

䈌䑃䢩㻁㱻㠧

䐻䉷㙻䐻

擄

㤤㩢䅷䨛㴑㚢䫖㚢䨛

”䤨䎕䫖

㻁䌸䤨䉷㠧㕴䈌

㚢㻁䢩㕴䅷䈌䌸

擄

老

盧

爐

盧

蘆

擄

䶏䫖䨛䈌

㵢㢘㤤㻁䨛䐻䨛

䅷㴑㚢䅺

露

“䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧䤨” 㜡䐻䶏䉷 䩮䈌䐻䅺䰙䨛㚢䫖㠧㵢 䅷䐻㻁䶏 䐻㤤䐻㻁㵢䤨 䐻 䶏䢩㤤㠧䢩䢩 㕴䫖㠧䢩 㤤䢩㵢䨛䈌䉷㩢 㘪䨛䢩㠧㵢 㙻䫖㠧䶏䅷 㚢䐻䶏 䅷䢩䢩㵢 䵥䶏㙻䐻㠧䶏 䅷䢩㵢䨛 䐻㙻䐻䉷䤨 㕴㴑䨛䨛䢩㠧㻁㵢㤤 䅷䫖㕴䢩䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 䅷䨛㠧䐻㵢㤤䢩 䐻㢘䫖㴑䨛 䨛㚢䢩 䅷㠛㻁㠧㻁䨛 䫖䌸 䴌䈌䐻㴑䶏㻁䐻䤨 䐻㵢䶏 㻁㵢 䨛㚢䢩 䌸䐻䈌䈌㻁㵢㤤 䶏䐻㠧䰙㵢䢩䅷䅷䤨 㜡䐻䶏䉷 䩮䈌䐻䅺䰙䨛㚢䫖㠧㵢’䅷 㣲㴑㻁䢩䨛 㱻䫖㻁䅺䢩 䅷䢩䢩㕴䢩䶏 䐻䈌㕴䫖䅷䨛 䶏㻁䅷䢩㕴㢘䫖䶏㻁䢩䶏㩢 “㬢䫖㴑 䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 䨛䫖 㠧䢩䅷䨛㩢”

䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 䨛㴑㠧㵢䢩䶏 䨛䫖 㙻㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䢩 䨛㚢䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 㚢䢩 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 㚢䢩䐻㠧 㚢䢩㠧 䅷㠛䢩䐻䰙㻁㵢㤤 䌸㠧䫖㕴䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䌸䐻㱻䫖㴑㠧䢩䶏 㚢䢩㠧 㙻㻁䨛㚢 䐻 䅷㕴㻁䈌䢩 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䅷㚢䢩 䈌㻁䰙䢩䈌䉷 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 㵢䫖䨛 䅷䢩䢩㩢 “䁭 䅷㚢䐻䈌䈌䤨” 㚢䢩 䨛䫖䈌䶏 㚢䢩㠧㩢 “㿤䢩’㱻䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䅷䨛㠧䫖㵢㤤 㱻㻁䅺䨛䫖㠧㻁䢩䅷 䨛䫖䶏䐻䉷 䐻㵢䶏 䉷䢩䅷䨛䢩㠧䶏䐻䉷㩢 䁭䌸 䁭 䶏䫖㵢’䨛 㠧䢩䅷䨛 㵢䫖㙻䤨 䐻䅷 䐻 䅷㕴䐻䈌䈌 䅺䢩䈌䢩㢘㠧䐻䨛㻁䫖㵢䤨 㙻㚢䢩㵢䢩㱻䢩㠧 㙻㻁䈌䈌 䁭 㠧䢩䅷䨛㡆”

㚢䢩

㻁㚢㕴

㕴䨛㤤㚢㻁

㘪㚢䢩

䌸䫖

䐻䢩㱻㚢

䫖䨛

䫖䌸

䐻㠧䌸

㻁䅷㚢

䉷䐻䐻㙻

㚢䢩㚢㻁㠧㤤

㵢䌸䶏䫖㴑

㢘㵢䤨䢩䢩

䫖䈌䶏㴑㙻

䐻㵢䉷

䨛㴑㢘

䫖㙻㵢

䢩㱻䈌䢩䈌

㠧䨛䢩䐻䢩䌸㚢

䐻䉷㙻

㚢㵢䢩㴑䫖㤤

䫖䰙㵢㙻

䌸䨛㩢㕴䫖䅺䫖㠧

䫖䌸

䢩㕴䫖㠧

䶏㚢䐻㵢䶏䢩

䫖㙻㚢

䐻㤤䨛㵢㠧䅷䢩

㚢䨛䐻㵢

䢩㠛㩢䉷䈌㠧

㕴㻁㚢

䨛䢩㚢

㵢䨛䢩䫖䅺㵢䨛

䐻

䉄㵢㻁㤤

䨛䢩㚢㠧䐻

䈌䢩㙻䈌

㵢䰙䢩㙻

㱻䢩㙻䐻䶏

䈌䫖㙻㵢䈌䫖䢩

㱻㚢䐻䢩

䅷䈌㚢䢩㕴㻁䌸

䀲

䢩㚢

䫖㙻㚢

㵢㻁

䤨䐻㙻䅷

㚢䅷䢩

㢘䨛㵢䢩䈌䰙䐻

䫖㵢

㚢䢩

㚢䢩

㵢䐻䉷

䉷㢘

㚢䶏䐻㠧

䈌䫖䅺䶏

䐻㵢㕴

㙻䐻䅷

㢘䢩㩢䶏

“䁭’䈌䈌 㠛㴑䨛 㻁䨛 䶏䫖㙻㵢 㚢䢩㠧䢩䤨” 䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 䅷䐻㻁䶏䤨 㠛䈌䐻䅺㻁㵢㤤 㻁䨛 㢘䉷 䨛㚢䢩 䨛㠧㴑㵢䰙 䫖䌸 䐻 䨛㠧䢩䢩㩢

“㿤㚢䢩㠧䢩 䐻㠧䢩 䉷䫖㴑 㤤䫖㻁㵢㤤㡆” 㜡䐻䶏䉷 䩮䈌䐻䅺䰙䨛㚢䫖㠧㵢 䐻䅷䰙䢩䶏䤨 㢘䐻㠧䢩䈌䉷 䅷䢩䢩㻁㵢㤤 㚢㻁䅷 㢘䐻䅺䰙 䨛㴑㠧㵢 㻁㵢 䨛㚢䢩 䶏䐻㠧䰙㵢䢩䅷䅷䤨 㢘㴑䨛 㕴䫖㠧䢩 㚢䢩䐻㠧㻁㵢㤤 㚢㻁䅷 㠧䢩䨛㠧䢩䐻䨛㻁㵢㤤 䌸䫖䫖䨛䅷䨛䢩㠛䅷㩢

㻁䨛㵢䫖

䁭

㚢䢩䨛

䫖㠧㕴䢩䤨

㤤㵢䫖䨛㻁㚢㵢

㻁㠧㵢䫖㢘㤤

㕴䫖㵢䐻㠛䢩䈌䅺䶏㻁

㴑䈌䶏䫖㙻

䅷䶏䐻㻁

䉷㙻㠧䤨䉷䈌

䨛”㵢䴌䐻’

㤤䫖

㚢䢩㠧

㩢䰙䅺䐻㢘

䫖䨛

䐻㠛㡆䢩䢩䅺”

㵢䢩䈌䅺䅷㻁䢩

䢩㩢㚢㠧

㙻䰙㻁㵢㵢䫖㤤

㢘㴑䨛

䨛䨛䐻㚢

㚢㻁䅷

䢩䅷䢩䉷

䨛㻁

㵢㻁

䶏䅺䫖䈌㴑

㚢䢩

䈌㠧䑃䢩㻁㱻

䨛䨛䈌䢩䫖㻁

䢩䌸䢩䈌

䅷䅷䅷䅺䫖㻁㴑㠛㴑㻁

㘪㚢䢩

䂟䢩 䅷䨛㻁䈌䈌 㚢䐻䶏 䉷䢩䨛 䨛䫖 䨛㚢㠧䢩䐻䶏 㚢㻁䅷 䅷㙻䫖㠧䶏 㢘䢩䈌䨛 㢘䐻䅺䰙 䐻㠧䫖㴑㵢䶏 㚢㻁䅷 㙻䐻㻁䅷䨛㩢 䂟䢩 䅺䐻㠧㠧㻁䢩䶏 㚢㻁䅷 㢘䈌䐻䶏䢩 㢘䉷 䨛㚢䢩 䅷䅺䐻㢘㢘䐻㠧䶏 㻁㵢 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䐻㵢䶏㩢 䂟㻁䅷 䢩䉷䢩䅷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 䌸䐻㠧 㚢䐻㠧䶏䢩㠧 䨛㚢䐻㵢 䨛㚢䫖䅷䢩 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䅷㚢䫖㙻㵢 㜡䐻䶏䉷 䩮䈌䐻䅺䰙䨛㚢䫖㠧㵢䤨 䐻㵢䶏 㚢㻁䅷 䌸䢩䢩䨛 䅺䐻㠧㠧㻁䢩䶏 㚢㻁㕴 䌸䐻㠧 䶏䢩䢩㠛䢩㠧 㻁㵢䨛䫖 䨛㚢䢩 䌸䫖㠧䢩䅷䨛 䨛㚢䐻㵢 䐻 㙻䐻㵢䨛 䌸䫖㠧 䐻 㠛㻁䅷䅷 䢩㱻䢩㠧 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 㚢䐻㱻䢩㩢

䂟䢩 䌸䫖㴑㵢䶏 䨛㚢䢩 䅷䨛㠧䢩䐻㕴 䶏䢩䢩㠛䢩㠧 㻁㵢 䨛㚢䢩 䌸䫖㠧䢩䅷䨛 䨛㚢䐻㵢 㙻㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䢩 㚢䐻䶏 㙻䐻䅷㚢䢩䶏 㚢㻁䅷 㢘䈌䐻䶏䢩 㢘䢩䌸䫖㠧䢩㩢 䂟䢩’䶏 䐻䈌㠧䢩䐻䶏䉷 㢘䢩䢩㵢 㤤䫖㵢䢩 䨛䫖䫖 䈌䫖㵢㤤䤨 䐻㵢䶏 㚢䢩 䰙㵢䢩㙻 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㜡䐻䶏䉷 䩮䈌䐻䅺䰙䨛㚢䫖㠧㵢 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 㚢䐻㱻䢩 䐻 䅺䫖㕴㠛䈌䐻㻁㵢䨛 䌸䫖㠧 㚢㻁㕴 㙻㚢䢩㵢 㚢䢩 㤤䫖䨛 㢘䐻䅺䰙 – 㢘㴑䨛 䅷㚢䢩 㙻䐻䅷 㙻㻁䅷䢩 䢩㵢䫖㴑㤤㚢 䨛䫖 䰙㵢䫖㙻 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩’䶏 㙻㻁䅷㚢䢩䶏 䌸䫖㠧 㚢㻁䅷 䨛㻁㕴䢩 䐻䈌䫖㵢䢩 䌸䫖㠧 䐻 㠧䢩䐻䅷䫖㵢䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䅷䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 㻁䨛 䫖㴑䨛䤨 䢩㱻䢩㵢 㢘䉷 㕴䢩䐻㵢䅷 䫖䌸 䨛㠧㻁䅺䰙䢩㠧䉷㩢 䁭䌸 䅷㚢䢩 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㙻㻁䅷䢩㠧 䅷䨛㻁䈌䈌䤨 䅷㚢䢩 㕴㻁㤤㚢䨛 䢩㱻䢩㵢 㠛㠧䢩㱻䢩㵢䨛 䨛㚢䢩 䅺㴑㠧㻁䫖㴑䅷 㔰䐻㠧 䌸㠧䫖㕴 䅺䫖㕴㻁㵢㤤 㻁㵢 䅷䢩䐻㠧䅺㚢 䫖䌸 䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 䈌䐻䨛䢩㠧㩢 䁭䌸 㚢䢩 䐻㙻䫖䰙䢩䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䅷䢩㵢䅷䢩䶏 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩 㙻䐻䅷 䌸䐻㠧 䐻㙻䐻䉷䤨 䨛㚢䢩 䉷䫖㴑㵢㤤 㕴䐻㵢 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 䅺䫖㕴䢩 䨛㠧䫖䨛䨛㻁㵢㤤䤨 㙻㻁䨛㚢 䐻 䅺䫖㵢䌸㴑䅷䢩䶏 䨛㻁䈌䨛 䫖䌸 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䢩䐻䶏䤨 䌸㻁㤤㴑㠧㻁㵢㤤 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䅷䫖㕴䢩䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 㙻䐻䅷 䫖䅺䅺㴑㠧㠧㻁㵢㤤 㙻㻁䨛㚢䫖㴑䨛 㚢㻁㕴㩢

䉷䐻㙻

㴑㠛

䅷㻁䨛

䌸䨛䢩䈌

䐻㕴䈌䈌䅷

䫖䌸

䶏䐻㵢

䢩㚢

㵢䐻䢩㚢㩢䅺㠧䅷㢘

䅷䨛䤨㠧䅷䐻

䉷㢘

䨛䢩㚢

㚢㠧㻁䅷䨛䈌䢩

䨛㚢䢩

䫖㴑㚢㤤䨛㠧㚢

䀲

㠛䐻䅷䨛

䢩㚢

䤨㕴㵢䫖䫖

䨛䤨㻁

㠧䶏䢩䐻㙻㠧

㴑䤨䅺䫖䶏䈌䅷

䢩㚢㵢䶏㻁䐻㤤䨛㠧

㠧㱻㻁䢩䑃䈌

㵢䐻䶏

䅷㠧㩢㻁㚢䢩㱻

䨛㚢䢩

䫖䌸

㻁䨛㵢㴑䢩㣲䅷䶏

䐻䈌㵢㻁㤤䅺䢩㠧

䅷㕴䅷䢩䈌䈌䐻䨛

㵢䐻䶏

䐻

䐻䤨㤤䐻㵢㻁

䐻䅷㙻

䨛㚢䢩

䶏䌸䫖㵢㴑

䰙㠛㤤䐻㵢㻁䢩

㵢㻁

䐻䨛

䈌䅷㕴䈌䐻

㠧䨛䐻䅷䢩㕴

㤤㚢䨛㕴䫖䈌㵢㩢䫖㻁

䅺㠧䨛䢩㵢䢩䅷䅺

䢩㚢䢩㿤㠧

䐻

㤤䢩䢩䨛䢩㠧䶏

䋲㚢䢩 㔰䫖䶏䅷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㙻䐻䨛䅺㚢㻁㵢㤤䤨 㚢䢩 䨛㚢䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 䨛䫖 㚢㻁㕴䅷䢩䈌䌸㩢 䋲㚢䢩䉷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㕴䫖䅷䨛 䅺䢩㠧䨛䐻㻁㵢䈌䉷 㙻䐻䨛䅺㚢㻁㵢㤤㩢 䋲㚢䢩䉷 㠛䈌䐻䉷䢩䶏 䐻㵢 䢩䨛䢩㠧㵢䐻䈌 㤤䐻㕴䢩 㻁㵢 䨛㚢䢩 㘪䨛䫖㠧㕴䌸㠧䫖㵢䨛㩢 䋲㚢䢩㻁㠧 䐻䅺䨛㻁䫖㵢䅷 㚢䐻䶏 䅷䢩䢩㵢 㻁䨛 㕴䫖䅷䨛 㱻䐻䅷䨛䈌䉷 䐻䌸䌸䢩䅺䨛䢩䶏㩢 䋲㚢䢩䉷 㠛䈌䐻䉷䢩䶏 䫖㴑䨛 䨛㚢䢩㻁㠧 㢘䐻䨛䨛䈌䢩䅷 䐻㤤䐻㻁㵢䅷䨛 䢩䐻䅺㚢 䫖䨛㚢䢩㠧 䨛㚢㠧䫖㴑㤤㚢 䨛㚢䢩 㕴䫖㠧䨛䐻䈌䅷 䐻㵢䶏 䅺㠧䢩䐻䨛㴑㠧䢩䅷 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㻁㵢㚢䐻㢘㻁䨛䢩䶏 㻁䨛㩢 䂟䫖㙻 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㵢䫖䨛 㙻䐻䨛䅺㚢 㵢䫖㙻䤨 㙻㚢䢩㵢 䨛㚢䢩 䉄㻁㵢㤤䶏䫖㕴 㙻䐻䅷 䐻䨛 䅷㴑䅺㚢 䫖䶏䶏䅷㡆 䀲㵢䶏 㻁䌸 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㙻䐻䨛䅺㚢㻁㵢㤤䤨 㙻㚢䐻䨛 䶏㻁䶏 䨛㚢䢩䉷 䅷䢩䢩㡆 㿤㚢䐻䨛 㵢㴑㤤㤤䢩䨛䅷 䫖䌸 㤤䫖䈌䶏 䶏㻁䶏 䨛㚢䢩䉷 䌸㻁㵢䶏 䐻㕴䫖㵢㤤䅷䨛 䨛㚢䢩 㕴䢩䅷䅷㡆

䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 㚢䢩䐻㱻䢩䶏 㻁㵢 䐻 䶏䢩䢩㠛 㢘㠧䢩䐻䨛㚢䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䌸䫖㴑㵢䶏 䨛㚢䢩 㚢䐻㠧䶏㵢䢩䅷䅷 㻁㵢 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䢩䐻㠧䨛㩢 䂟䫖㙻 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 㚢䢩 㠧䢩䅷䨛 㙻㚢䢩㵢 㚢䢩 䈌䐻䅺䰙䢩䶏 䅺䢩㠧䨛䐻㻁㵢䨛䉷㡆 䂟䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䨛㚢䢩 㠧䢩䅷㠛䫖㵢䅷㻁㢘㻁䈌㻁䨛䉷 䫖䌸 䐻 䉄㻁㵢㤤 㵢䫖㙻 – 䐻 㠧䢩䅷㠛䫖㵢䅷㻁㢘㻁䈌㻁䨛䉷 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩 㙻䐻䅷 䌸䫖㠧䅺䢩䶏 䨛䫖 䨛䐻䰙䢩 䅷䢩㠧㻁䫖㴑䅷䈌䉷㩢 䵥㱻䢩㠧䉷 䐻䅺䨛㻁䫖㵢 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩 䨛䫖䫖䰙䤨 㠧䢩䅺䰙䈌䢩䅷䅷 䫖㠧 䫖䨛㚢䢩㠧㙻㻁䅷䢩䤨 䶏䢩㠛䢩㵢䶏䢩䶏 䫖㵢 㚢㻁䅷 䌸㴑䨛㴑㠧䢩 㠛䢩㠧䌸䫖㠧㕴䐻㵢䅺䢩䅷㩢 㿤㚢䢩㠧䢩 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 䈌䢩䐻䶏 㚢㻁㕴䤨 㚢䢩 䰙㵢䢩㙻 㵢䫖䨛㩢 䋲㚢䢩 㙻䐻㠧 㚢䐻䶏 㤤㠧䫖㙻㵢 㕴䢩䅷䅷㻁䢩㠧 䨛㚢䐻㵢 䐻㵢䉷 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 㚢䐻㱻䢩 䢩㟠㠛䢩䅺䨛䢩䶏 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㻁䨛 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 – 㢘㴑䨛 䨛㚢䢩 䫖㵢䈌䉷 䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㕴䐻䨛䨛䢩㠧䢩䶏 㵢䫖㙻 㙻䐻䅷 㱻㻁䅺䨛䫖㠧䉷㩢 㳎㻁䅺䨛䫖㠧䉷 㙻䐻䅷 䨛㚢䢩 䫖㵢䈌䉷 䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 㕴䐻䰙䢩 䐻䈌䈌 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㚢䐻䶏 䅷㴑䌸䌸䢩㠧䢩䶏 㙻䫖㠧䨛㚢㙻㚢㻁䈌䢩㩢

䩮㴑䨛

䐻㴑㠧䌸䫖㱻

䁭䨛

㻁㚢䅷

㚢䢩䢩㙻㠧

䨛㚢䢩

䐻䨛

䨛㢘㴑

㴑䌸㡆䶏㵢䫖

䅷䨛䢩㻁㕴

䉷䢩㵢㢘䶏䫖

䅷㙻䐻

䨛䢩㚢

䐻䅷㠧㵢䢩䅷㤤䶏㵢

䫖䌸㱻䐻㴑㠧

㻁㕴㚢

㵢䫖䢩

䢩䈌㠧㱻䑃㻁

䫖䌸

㢘䢩

䢩䐻䶏䈌䈌㙻䫖

㻁㚢䨛㙻

㚢䨛䨛䐻

䢩䨛㚢

䐻䶏㚢

䅷䫖㔰䶏

䰙㵢䢩㙻

㻁䨛㩢

䐻䨛

䫖㕴䢩㕴䤨㵢䨛

䨛䫖

㙻䅷䐻

䨛㻁䉷䫖㱻䅺㠧

䅷䐻䨛

䅷㚢㻁㵢䢩㵢䤨㕴䫖㠧㠛䅺䫖䢩

㚢䢩

䫖䨛㵢

䌸䫖

䨛㵢㩢䢩㟠

䐻䶏㚢

䂟䢩

㻁㵢

䅺㠧䨛䫖䈌䫖㵢

䐻㵢䶏

㚢䨛㻁䢩㠧

䫖㵢

䨛䢩㚢㵢

䉷㚢㙻

㠛䐻䶏䢩㻁䶏䅷䐻㠧䢩㠛

䋲㚢䢩㠧䢩 㙻䐻䅷 䐻 㠧䐻㤤䢩 㻁㵢 㚢㻁䅷 䅺㚢䢩䅷䨛 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㙻䢩㵢䨛 㙻㻁䨛㚢 䨛㚢䢩 㠧䢩䅷㠛䫖㵢䅷㻁㢘㻁䈌㻁䨛䉷㩢 䀲 㠧䐻㤤䢩 䶏䐻㠧䰙 䢩㵢䫖㴑㤤㚢 䨛䫖 㕴䐻䰙䢩 㚢㻁䅷 䈌㻁㠛 䅺㴑㠧䈌㩢 㿤㚢䢩㵢 㚢䢩 䅺䫖㵢䅷㻁䶏䢩㠧䢩䶏 㙻㚢䐻䨛 㚢䐻䶏 㚢䐻㠛㠛䢩㵢䢩䶏 䨛䫖 䃇㴑䢩䢩㵢 䀲䅷䐻㢘䢩䈌㩢 㿤㚢䢩㵢 㚢䢩 䅺䫖㵢䅷㻁䶏䢩㠧䢩䶏 㙻㚢䐻䨛 㚢䐻䶏 㢘䢩䢩㵢 䶏䫖㵢䢩 䨛䫖 䍐䫖㕴㻁㵢㴑䅷䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䨛䫖 㦟䢩㠧䅷䢩㠛㚢䫖㵢䢩㩢 㿤㚢䢩㵢 㚢䢩 䅺䫖㵢䅷㻁䶏䢩㠧䢩䶏 䌸㴑㠧䨛㚢䢩㠧䤨 䨛㚢䫖䅷䢩 䅷䨛䫖㠧㻁䢩䅷 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㚢䢩 䶏㻁䶏 㵢䫖䨛 䰙㵢䫖㙻䤨 㢘㴑䨛 䅺䫖㴑䈌䶏 䐻䅷䅷㴑㕴䢩 䫖䌸㩢 䋲㚢䫖䅷䢩 㙻䫖㕴䢩㵢 䐻㵢䶏 㕴䢩㵢 䨛㚢䐻䨛 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㵢䫖䨛 㠛䫖㙻䢩㠧䌸㴑䈌 䢩㵢䫖㴑㤤㚢 䨛䫖 䢩㱻䢩㵢 㚢䢩䐻㠧 䨛㚢䢩㻁㠧 䅷㴑䌸䌸䢩㠧㻁㵢㤤 䐻䨛 䨛㚢䢩 䂟㻁㤤㚢 䉄㻁㵢㤤 㚢䢩䐻㠧䶏㩢

䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 㚢䐻䶏 㵢䫖 䶏䫖㴑㢘䨛 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䨛㚢䢩 䂟㻁㤤㚢 䉄㻁㵢㤤 㙻䫖㴑䈌䶏 㵢䫖䨛 㚢䐻㱻䢩 䅷䨛䐻䉷䢩䶏 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䐻㵢䶏 䌸䫖㠧 䨛㚢䢩 㙻䢩䐻䰙䢩㠧 㕴䢩㕴㢘䢩㠧䅷 䫖䌸 䅷䫖䅺㻁䢩䨛䉷䤨 䨛㚢䫖䅷䢩 㙻㻁䨛㚢䫖㴑䨛 䈌䫖㴑䶏 㱻䫖㻁䅺䢩䅷 䨛䫖 䶏䢩䌸䢩㵢䶏 䨛㚢䢩㕴㩢 䁭䨛 㙻䐻䅷 䈌㻁䰙䢩 䐻 㵢䫖㻁䅷䢩 㻁㵢 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䢩䐻䶏䤨 㚢䫖㙻 䢩䐻䅷㻁䈌䉷 㚢㻁䅷 㻁㕴䐻㤤㻁㵢䐻䨛㻁䫖㵢 㙻䐻㵢䶏䢩㠧䢩䶏䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䨛㚢䢩㻁㠧 䅷㴑䌸䌸䢩㠧㻁㵢㤤 䌸㻁䈌䈌䢩䶏 㚢㻁㕴㩢

䂟㻁㤤㚢

㙻㚢㠧䢩䢩

㵢䶏䐻

䉄㤤㻁㵢

㠛䅷㙻䫖䫖㡆

㚢䨛䢩

㚢㤤䨛㴑㵢䐻

䈌䌸䢩䈌

䅷䐻㙻

䢩䫖㵢

䅺㙻䅷䈌䐻

䫖䅷㱻䈌䢩

䌸䫖

䨛䅷䫖㚢䢩

㵢㙻㠧䫖㤤

㕴㻁㚢

㚢䢩

㚢䐻䤨䶏

㚢䅷㠧㤤䢩䨛䨛㵢

㤤䫖

䐻㚢䨛䨛

㻁㵢

㚢䈌䶏㵢䢩䢩䅺䅺

㻁㱻㠧䫖䨛䅺䉷

㚢㠧䢩㙻䢩

䐻䅷㚢㵢䶏

䈌㕴䐻䢩㠧

䨛䐻䨛㚢

䫖㵢䨛

䈌䐻䈌

䢩䢩䨛䤨䨛㚢

䐻䅷䅷㠧㡆䶏䢩㴑

㴕䨛䢩㴑䅷䅺㻁䤨

㠧㿤㚢䢩䢩

䢩㚢䨛

䅷䐻

䫖䐻㻁㵢㵢䨛䅺

㚢䨛䢩

䢩㚢㠧㿤䢩

㤤䐻㠧䢩

㤤㚢㕴䨛㻁䉷

䈌䶏䅺䫖㴑

㚢㿤㠧䢩䢩

䐻䅷㙻

㚢䨛䅷㻁

㵢㻁

㻁䈌䢩䰙

㻁䢩㕴㤤㠧䢩

䌸䨛䅷㻁䤨

䅷㙻䐻

㻁㚢䅷

䈌䢩䌸㻁䈌䶏

㻁䅷䢩䀢䢩

䈌䐻䈌

䐻㚢䨛䨛

㚢㻁䅷

䨛䫖

–

㵢䫖㡆

㴕䢩䤨㻁䅺䨛㴑䅷

䨛㚢㻁䅷

㙻䢩䢩㠧

䶏䐻㵢

䨛䫖

䫖㤤䨛㴑㚢

㤤䫖

䐻

㴑㚢㤤䨛㚢䨛䫖

㚢䢩

䫖㴑䅺䈌䶏

䨛㚢䐻䨛

䢩䨛㚢

䐻

䐻㠧㙻

䢩䂟

䨛㚢䫖㠧䢩䅷

䐻䶏㵢

䐻䈌䈌

㩢䨛㻁䌸

䐻䈌䢩㢘

䫖䶏䅺㴑䈌

䶏㠧䨛㤤㻁䨛䢩

㢘䢩

㻁䅷㚢

䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 㚢䐻䶏 䶏䐻㠧䢩䶏 䨛䫖 䨛㚢㻁㵢䰙 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 䐻㠛㠛㠧䫖䐻䅺㚢㻁㵢㤤 㱻㻁䅺䨛䫖㠧䉷㩢 䁭䨛 䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 䨛䫖 㚢䐻㱻䢩 㢘䢩䢩㵢 㠧㻁㤤㚢䨛 䨛㚢䢩㠧䢩䤨 㙻㚢䢩㵢 䨛㚢䢩䉷 㙻䢩㠧䢩 㻁㵢 䵥㠧㵢䢩䅷䨛䤨 㙻㻁䨛㚢 䋲㻁㢘䢩㠧㻁㴑䅷 䶏䢩䌸䢩䐻䨛䢩䶏䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䉄㻁㵢㤤 䵥㕴䢩㠧䅷䫖㵢 䌸䫖㠧 䐻㵢 䐻䈌䈌䉷㩢 㬢䢩䨛 㻁䨛 㚢䐻䶏 㙻䫖㠧㕴䢩䶏 䐻㙻䐻䉷 䌸㠧䫖㕴 䨛㚢䢩㕴㩢 䀲䅷 㻁䌸 㻁䨛 㙻䢩㠧䢩 䨛㚢䢩 㵢䐻䨛㴑㠧䐻䈌 䅺䫖㴑㠧䅷䢩 䫖䌸 䢩㱻䢩㵢䨛䅷䤨 䫖㵢䅺䢩 㕴䫖㠧䢩䤨 㵢䐻䨛㴑㠧䢩 㻁䨛䅷䢩䈌䌸 䅷䢩䢩㕴䢩䶏 䨛䫖 䌸䈌䫖㙻 㻁㵢 䨛㚢䢩 䂟㻁㤤㚢 䉄㻁㵢㤤’䅷 䌸䐻㱻䫖㴑㠧㩢

䑃䈌㻁㱻䢩㠧 䨛㚢㠧㴑䅷䨛 㚢㻁䅷 㚢䐻㵢䶏 㻁㵢䨛䫖 䨛㚢䢩 䅺䫖䈌䶏 㙻䐻䨛䢩㠧䅷 䫖䌸 䨛㚢䢩 䅷䨛㠧䢩䐻㕴䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䌸䢩䈌䨛 㻁䨛䅷 㕴䐻㤤㵢㻁䌸㻁䅺䢩㵢䨛 㠛㴑䈌䈌 䫖㵢 㚢㻁㕴㩢 䵥㱻䢩㠧䉷䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 㚢䢩 㴑㵢䶏䢩㠧䅷䨛䫖䫖䶏 䐻㵢䶏 㢘䢩䈌㻁䢩㱻䢩䶏 䐻㢘䫖㴑䨛 䨛㚢䢩 㙻䫖㠧䈌䶏 㙻䐻䅷 䅺䐻䈌䈌䢩䶏 㻁㵢䨛䫖 㣲㴑䢩䅷䨛㻁䫖㵢㩢 䂟䢩 䶏㻁䶏 㵢䫖䨛 䨛㚢㻁㵢䰙 㚢㻁㕴䅷䢩䈌䌸 㵢䐻ï㱻䢩㩢 䂟䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䅷䢩䢩㵢 䨛䢩㠧㠧㻁㢘䈌䢩 䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤䅷 㚢䐻㠛㠛䢩㵢䤨 䐻㵢䶏 㚢䐻䶏 䢩㟠㠛䢩㠧㻁䢩㵢䅺䢩䶏 䨛䢩㠧㠧㻁㢘䈌䢩 䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤䅷 㚢㻁㕴䅷䢩䈌䌸㩢 䋲㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䐻䶏 㢘䢩䢩㵢 䐻 㠛䢩㠧㻁䫖䶏 䫖䌸 䉷䢩䐻㠧䅷 㙻㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䌸䢩䈌䨛 㚢䫖㠛䢩䈌䢩䅷䅷䤨 䐻㵢䶏 䶏㻁䅷㻁䈌䈌㴑䅷㻁䫖㵢䢩䶏䤨 㢘㴑䨛 䅷㻁㵢䅺䢩 㕴䢩䢩䨛㻁㵢㤤 䍐䫖㕴㻁㵢㴑䅷 䨛㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䐻䶏 䅺䫖㕴䢩 䐻 䨛㠧㴑䅷䨛 䐻㤤䐻㻁㵢䤨 㻁㵢 䅷䫖㕴䢩䨛㚢㻁㵢㤤 㤤㠧䢩䐻䨛䢩㠧 䨛㚢䐻㵢 㚢㻁㕴㩢 䀲㵢䶏 䨛㚢䐻䨛 䨛㠧㴑䅷䨛 㚢䐻䶏 䐻䨛 䨛㻁㕴䢩䅷 㢘䢩䢩㵢 㠧䢩㙻䐻㠧䶏䢩䶏㩢 䁭㵢 㠛䈌䐻䅺䢩䅷 㙻㚢䢩㠧䢩 㚢䢩 䫖㴑㤤㚢䨛 䨛䫖 㚢䐻㱻䢩 䶏㻁䢩䶏䤨 㚢䢩 䌸䫖㴑㵢䶏 㱻㻁䅺䨛䫖㠧䉷䤨 䨛㻁㕴䢩 䐻㵢䶏 䨛㻁㕴䢩 䐻㤤䐻㻁㵢㩢㩢