I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Northern was silent for a few moments.

The weight of his stillness pressed down on the air like an imminent annihilation.

Seeing it, the shopkeeper nearly broke out of his skin. He scrambled forward, groveling at Northern's feet.

"I swear! I'm not lying—I'm not trying to trick you!" he cried. "It was right there! I had it on my tongue—I swear it just… left."

His usual assured tone had crumbled into shameless desperation.

Northern cast an indifferent glance at him, then sighed, stepping back and pulling his foot away from the man's grasp.

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Straightening, he looked down at him again and asked,

"I presume your claim of having reached the Northern Continent was a fluke—something to enthrall me."

The shopkeeper's head jerked up.

"What?! No! Not at all, Sir Drifter!! I swear it wasn't!"

His words spilled out quickly, frantic.

"It was why that person knew to come and meet me! I am one of the very few information brokers with contacts all across the world."

He risked another glance at Northern—then added, voice dripping with desperation,

"If you take me under your wing, I can serve you. Please—just don't kill me. I will give you whatever information you need."

Northern studied him.

For the first time, there was a flicker of intrigue in his gaze. Beneath the mask, he grinned.

"Oh. Of course, you will serve me."

His voice was amused, yet chilling.

"That was, after all, the reward I was supposed to receive for delivering your caravan to Lithia and returning, wasn't it?"

His gaze sharpened.

"So, yes—you will serve me. And you will tell me everything I need to know about the blockade."

The information broker swallowed hard. Fear glimmered in his eyes as they met Northern's.

"Yes, sir. I will tell you everything I know."

Northern nodded.

Extending a single finger, he traced a slow, deliberate circle in the air.

A rift tore open before them, slashing through the darkness with eerie brilliance.

The shopkeeper recoiled, his body trembling. He had no words for what he was witnessing—only a raw, unexplainable fear clawing at his insides.

Before he could process it, Northern grabbed him and stepped into the rift.

The spatial tear sealed behind them instantly—leaving no trace.

***

The shopkeeper staggered, disoriented.

The scenery had changed entirely.

Darkness stretched in all directions, vast and suffocating like a shroud. Colossal pillars loomed around them, vanishing into a ceiling that was too far above—if a ceiling even existed at all. It was as if these pillars anchored certain parts of the darkness, preventing it from collapsing.

Yet despite the oppressive blackness, strange azure lights flickered and danced in the distance, casting both a regal warmth and a bone-chilling cold over the air.

The shopkeeper shuddered as unseen pressures crashed over him.

A wave of emotions—foreign, overwhelming—slammed into him.

His mind couldn't comprehend where he was standing.

Northern paced in front of him, moving back and forth in a short, linear stride.

Then—finally—he stopped.

His azure gaze pierced through the man's trembling form.

"Now," Northern said, his voice quiet, unwavering.

"Go on. Tell me everything about the blockade."

The shopkeeper trembled, his entire body barely holding together beneath the weight of Northern's gaze.

It was the look of a predator—sharp, unrelenting, ready to rip him apart at the slightest provocation.

But that look demanded answers.

There was no escaping this. He had to start talking.

He swallowed hard, fear not only in his eyes but woven into the very tremor of his voice.

"The blockade… it's more than what it appears to be," he began, his words quivering.

"On the surface, it looks like a push to awaken the nations—to force them to see that the military is serious about the revolution."

He paused, inhaling shakily.

"But in truth, that's not the goal. In fact, the nations remaining oblivious and skeptical… works to the military's advantage. That's what I was told."

He hesitated.

"The one leading this entire operation… I hear he's a rogue from the government. A Paragon."

Northern's eyes narrowed.

"And?"

The shopkeeper licked his dry lips.

"I also heard that not only is he a Paragon… but he has six Ascendants following him. Each one of them commands a cohort of four Sages."

Northern's gaze sharpened.

"What did you just say?"

The shopkeeper flinched and stammered, "I said—"

"No. I heard what you said." Northern cut him off. "That was rhetorical."

The shopkeeper swallowed hard, but Northern was already lost in thought.

'Four Sages? Under each Ascendant? And six Ascendants?'

That kind of force was overwhelming.

Even he wasn't sure he could handle all of them—at least, not without his summons.

'Maybe… with my clones.'

Even then, it would be tough. For others, it would be impossible.

But if this Paragon—whom Northern had a very good idea of—was planning to push the Ascendants into Paragons and Sages into Ascendants, creating a chain of command…

Then the scale of destruction would be catastrophic.

The Central Plains had no idea what was coming for it.

'That damned Dante… he really thought this through, didn't he?'

Northern exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts.

Then he glanced back at the shopkeeper.

"Well? Go on."

The man continued, his body trembling—whether from the pain in his hand or the sheer terror of the being standing before him.

Or perhaps both.

"I hear he's using this time to grow his forces," the shopkeeper stammered. "I hear he's won the hearts of the military, and even those in the government who oppose him… they're powerless. Completely powerless."

His voice quivered, nearly breaking.

"That's why he's begun a purging. Right now, the government is a silent mess. The higher-ups are dying… and the only person who cares enough to stop him—the only one who would dare stand against the Paragon—is trapped in Lithia."

Northern's eyes widened in realization.

'Paragon Raizel.'

The Paragon had been right all along.

The blockade was designed to hold him back.

But now, Northern saw the full picture.

Dante did perceive him as a threat. But not an undefeatable one.

He was pinning the Paragon down in Lithia, to ensure no one could interfere while he purged the government.

'And what happens once he's done?'

The answer was chilling.

He would unleash the full force of the monsters… and crush Lithia.

Even Paragon Raizel might not be able to save the city—not against hundreds, perhaps thousands, of monsters lurking at the edge of the horizon, waiting for the final command.

Northern exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face.

Everything had scaled up in an instant. The weight of it—the sheer level of devastation—it was finally settling in.

And yet…

He owed the very Paragon orchestrating this destruction a single wish.

His face drained of color.

"Fuck."

Power Ranking Monthly #35

Mar 21, 02:00 - Apr 1, 01:00

Mass release 10 chapters

䒊䘼䤑䨉""䖡䏇䖡老

魯爐老盧"㻯㘷䂃䩄露 䇥㒻 䇥䖡䂃䅒㘷䏇㯻"

盧老爐虜䌳㥽㘷 㒑䖡䜓䤑䅒䩄 䖨㥽䒊䅒㘷㴮㥽䖡䒊䏇㘷䂛 㸞䖡䤑 㸞䖡䅒㘷䏇䒊䖡㠍䒊䀕㘷䂛 䖡䂃 䒊䀁 㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䤴㘷㘷䤑 䖨䖡䒊䅒䒊䤑㒑 㥽䒊䂃 㘷䤑䅒䒊䏇㘷 㘷㼇䒊䂃䅒㘷䤑䘶㘷 䀁㞍䏇 䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑'䂃 䘶䖡㠍㠍䘼 䏪䂃 䒊䀁 㘷㨙㘷䏇㒻 䘶䏇䖡䖨㠍䒊䤑㒑䩄 䀁㠍㒻䒊䤑㒑 䂃㘷䘶㞍䤑䂛 㞍䀁 㥽䒊䂃 㠍䒊䀁㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䤴㘷㘷䤑 䂃䫣㘷䤑䅒 䒊䤑 㘷䤑䂛㠍㘷䂃䂃 䖡䤑䅒䒊䘶䒊䫣䖡䅒䒊㞍䤑䘼

㘷䁨 䖨䖡䂃㘷㨙㘷䤑 䒊䒊㠍䘼䂃㒑㸞䤑

䎟㥽䖡㤳䒊䤑㒑 㞍䀁䀁 䨉䖡䒊䏇䖡䤑'䂃 䂃㸞䜓㒑 㒑䏇䒊䤑 䀁䏇㞍㸞 㥽䒊䂃 䅒㥽㞍䜓㒑㥽䅒䂃䩄 䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 㒑㠍䖡䤑䘶㘷䂛 䖡䅒 䅒㥽㘷 䂃㥽㞍䫣㤳㘷㘷䫣㘷䏇 䤴㘷䀁㞍䏇㘷 䅒䜓䏇䤑䒊䤑㒑 䤴䖡䘶㤳 䅒㞍 䨉䖡䒊䏇䖡䤑䘼

"䌳㥽䒊䂃 㸞䖡䤑 㥽䖡䂃 䫣䏇㞍㸞䒊䂃㘷䂛 㸞㘷 㥽䒊䂃 㠍㞍㒻䖡㠍䅒㒻䘼 䨉䜓䅒 㞍䀁 䘶㞍䜓䏇䂃㘷䩄 㫋 䘶䖡䤑'䅒 䅒䏇䜓䂃䅒 㥽䒊㸞䘼 䎟㞍䩄 㫋 䖨䖡䤑䅒 㒻㞍䜓 䅒㞍 䤴䏇㘷䖡㤳 㥽䒊㸞—䏇㘷䂃㥽䖡䫣㘷 㥽䒊㸞 䒊䤑 䂃䜓䘶㥽 䖡 䖨䖡㒻 䅒㥽䖡䅒 㥽㘷 䜓䤑䂛㘷䏇䂃䅒䖡䤑䂛䂃 㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂃 㞍䤑㠍㒻 㞍䤑㘷 䘶㥽㞍䒊䘶㘷䅋 䅒㞍 䤴㘷 㸞㒻 䂃㘷䏇㨙䖡䤑䅒䘼 㫋䀁 㥽㘷 䂃㞍 㸞䜓䘶㥽 䖡䂃 䅒㥽䒊䤑㤳䂃 㞍䀁 䂛㞍䒊䤑㒑 㞍䅒㥽㘷䏇䖨䒊䂃㘷䩄 㥽㘷 䂃㥽㞍䜓㠍䂛 䘶㞍㸞㘷 䅒㞍 㤳䤑㞍䖨 䅒㥽䖡䅒 䅒㥽㘷䏇㘷 㘷㼇䒊䂃䅒䂃 䖡 䀁䖡䅒㘷 䀁䖡䏇 䖨㞍䏇䂃㘷 䅒㥽䖡䤑 䂛㘷䖡䅒㥽䘼"

㠍㞍䂃䅒 㤳䤑䖡䂃 䏇㤳䂃㥽䫣䂃㞍㘷㘷䫣㘷' 䖡㠍㠍䀁䘶䖡㘷 䅒䤑㞍䒊㞍䏇㞍㠍䘶 䤑䏇㘷㞍䅒䏇䂃㥽'䘁䒊㥽䂃䂃䂛䏇㞍䖨 䤑䘼㘷㞍䤴䂃㥽䌳㘷 䖡䂃

䁨䒊䂃 㒑䖡䀕㘷 䂛䖡䏇䅒㘷䂛 䅒㞍䖨䖡䏇䂛 䅒㥽㘷 䂃䅒䏇䖡䤑㒑㘷㠍㒻 䖡䫣䫣䏇㞍䖡䘶㥽䖡䤴㠍㘷 㒻㘷䅒 䒊䤑㘷㼇䫣㠍䒊䘶䖡䤴㠍㒻 䀁㞍䏇㘷䤴㞍䂛䒊䤑㒑 㸞䖡䤑 䤴㘷䀁㞍䏇㘷 㥽䒊㸞䘼

䨉䖡䒊䏇䖡䤑 㠍㞍㞍㤳㘷䂛 䖡䂃 䅒㥽㞍䜓㒑㥽 㥽㘷 䖨㘷䏇㘷 䂃䜓䫣䫣䏇㘷䂃䂃䒊䤑㒑 䂃㞍㸞㘷䅒㥽䒊䤑㒑 䜓䤑䀁䖡䅒㥽㞍㸞䖡䤴㠍㒻 㸞䖡㠍䒊㒑䤑䖡䤑䅒 䤴㘷䤑㘷䖡䅒㥽 㥽䒊䂃 䂃㤳䒊䤑䩄 䂃㞍㸞㘷䅒㥽䒊䤑㒑 䘶㞍䒊㠍㘷䂛 䖡䤑䂛 䖨䖡䒊䅒䒊䤑㒑䘼

㘷㤳䩄䫣㞍㘷㥽䂃㘷䏇䫣䅒䏇㘷䤑㥽䘁㞍䏇 䅒㥽㘷 㞍䤑㒻㠍䅒㠍㥽䒊㒑 䖡㤳䤴䘶 㥽䜓䂃㠍䏇㞍㘷䘼䂛䒊䖡䤑䅒㒑䫣䫣䅒䤴㘷䏇㠍㸞㒑䤑䒊㥽䒊㸞 䅒㥽㘷䤑䂛䅒㘷䜓䏇䅒㞍

"䁟㘷 䖨䒊㠍㠍 㸞㘷㘷䅒 䖡㒑䖡䒊䤑 䂃㞍㞍䤑䘼"

䌳㥽㘷 䂃㥽㞍䫣㤳㘷㘷䫣㘷䏇 䅒䏇䒊㘷䂛 䅒㞍 䂃䫣㘷䖡㤳䩄 䤴䜓䅒 㥽䒊䂃 䖨㞍䏇䂛䂃 䅒䜓㸞䤴㠍㘷䂛 㞍㨙㘷䏇 䅒㥽㘷㸞䂃㘷㠍㨙㘷䂃䩄 䏇㘷䀁䜓䂃䒊䤑㒑 䅒㞍 㘷䂃䘶䖡䫣㘷 㥽䒊䂃 㸞㞍䜓䅒㥽䘼

㸞㥽䩄䒊㘷㤳䂛㞍㞍㠍㥽䒊䂃 䤑䤑䤑䒊㒑䒊䏇㒑 㘷㠍㘷䩄䒊㸞䤑㥽䖨䖡䂃㘷㒻㘷䅒㒻䤴䂛䒊䒊䏇䜓㠍㒑䤑䂃㒑䒊䏇䤑䒊䘶䫣㘷 䂃䖡䖨㘷䤑㸞㞍㒑䂃䒊䅒㥽 䏇䖡䤑䒊䩄䖡䨉 㒻䤑䭛䘼䅒䤑㘷㞍㸞㘷㘷䤴䜓㠍䖡䅒䤑䅒䤑䒊㒑㠍㒑䒊 䖨㥽䒊䅒 䅒㥽䅒䖡㞍䅒 㒻䂛䖡䖡㘷㠍䏇㘷䂃㞍㠍䘶

䌳㥽㘷 䂃㥽㞍䫣㤳㘷㘷䫣㘷䏇 㥽䖡䂛 䤑㞍 䒊䂛㘷䖡 䖨㥽䖡䅒 䖨䖡䂃 䜓䤑䀁㞍㠍䂛䒊䤑㒑䩄 䤴䜓䅒 㥽㘷 䀁㘷䖡䏇㘷䂛—㒑䏇㘷䖡䅒㠍㒻䘼 䁨䒊䂃 㥽㘷䖡䏇䅒 䂃㠍䖡㸞㸞㘷䂛 䖨䒊㠍䂛㠍㒻 䖡㒑䖡䒊䤑䂃䅒 㥽䒊䂃 䏇䒊䤴䂃䘼

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 䂛䒊䂃䖡䫣䫣㘷䖡䏇㘷䂛 䀁䏇㞍㸞 䅒㥽㘷 㿇䒊㸞䒊䅒㠍㘷䂃䂃 㸉㞍䒊䂛䩄 㠍㘷䖡㨙䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷 䅒䖨㞍 㞍䀁 䅒㥽㘷㸞 䖡㠍㞍䤑㘷䘼

㔒㔒㔒

䨉䖡䘶㤳 䒊䤑 㥽䒊䂃 䏇㞍㞍㸞䩄 䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 㠍䖡㒻 䂛㞍䖨䤑 䅒㞍 䂃䅒㘷䖡㠍 䖡 䀁㘷䖨 㥽㞍䜓䏇䂃 㞍䀁 䏇㘷䂃䅒䘼 㺉㨙㘷䤑 䒊䀁 㥽䒊䂃 䘶㞍䤑䂃䘶䒊㞍䜓䂃䤑㘷䂃䂃 䖨䖡䂃 䒊䤑 䅒㥽㘷 䤴㞍䂛㒻 㞍䀁 䖡 䘶㠍㞍䤑㘷䩄 䂃㠍㘷㘷䫣 䀁䜓䤑䘶䅒䒊㞍䤑㘷䂛 䅒㥽㘷 䂃䖡㸞㘷 䖨䖡㒻 䏇㘷㒑䖡䏇䂛㠍㘷䂃䂃䘼

䨉䜓䅒 䅒㥽㘷 䫣㘷䖡䘶㘷 䂛䒊䂛 䤑㞍䅒 㠍䖡䂃䅒 㠍㞍䤑㒑䘼

㥽㞍䤑䜓㒑㘷㞍䅒 㠍㞍䜓䂛䏪 䂃䤑䅒䒊䖡䖡㒑㒑䘶䖡䤑㠍䅒㥽䂃䅒䖡㘷䏇䂛㘷 䏇㘷䘶䫣䖡䂃 䤑㘷䒊㒑䂛䖡䤑㘷䀁䀁㞍䤴䂃㘷䤑㞍䂃䅒㘷䤑䅒㠍㠍㘷䂃䒊—㥽䂃䂃㘷䅒㘷䂃䅒䖡'㘷䖡䅒䅒䂃㘷䅒㥽㘷 㒑䤑䒊㒑䒊䏇䤑 㘷㥽䅒㠍䩄㘷䤴㠍䤑䂛䖨䘼䖡

䎟䅒䜓䂛㘷䤑䅒䂃 䖨㘷䏇㘷 䖡㠍䏇㘷䖡䂛㒻 㸞㞍㨙䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽䏇㞍䜓㒑㥽 䅒㥽㘷 㥽䖡㠍㠍䂃䩄 㸞䖡䤑㒻 㥽㘷䖡䂛䒊䤑㒑 䅒㞍䖨䖡䏇䂛 䤴䏇㘷䖡㤳䀁䖡䂃䅒䘼

䌳㥽㘷䒊䏇 䘶㞍䤑㨙㘷䏇䂃䖡䅒䒊㞍䤑䂃 䖨㘷䏇㘷 䖡 䤴䜓䀕䀕 㞍䀁 㠍䒊䤑㒑㘷䏇䒊䤑㒑 㘷㼇䘶䒊䅒㘷㸞㘷䤑䅒 䀁䏇㞍㸞 㒻㘷䂃䅒㘷䏇䂛䖡㒻'䂃 䤴䖡䅒䅒㠍㘷䂃䘼 䏪㠍㸞㞍䂃䅒 㘷㨙㘷䏇㒻 䀁䒊㒑㥽䅒 㥽䖡䂛 䤴㘷㘷䤑 㘷㼇㥽䒊㠍䖡䏇䖡䅒䒊䤑㒑䩄 䤴䜓䅒 㞍䤑㘷䩄 䒊䤑 䫣䖡䏇䅒䒊䘶䜓㠍䖡䏇䩄 㥽䖡䂛 㠍㘷䀁䅒 䭛䖡䖨䂃 䜓䤑㥽䒊䤑㒑㘷䂛䘼

䏪㞍䅒 䖡㒑䅒䤑䖡䒊䂃 䫣㞍㘷㠍䫣㘷䂛䜓䤑㘷䅒䅒䂃㘷㥽㞍䖨㒑䏇㸞䒊㠍㘷㨙䤑 䅒䏇䤑䒊䖡㘷䘶 䀁䒊 䅒㘷䂃䤑䖡㞍䂛㘷䂛䏇㸞䅒 㞍䀁㸞䖡㤳㘷 䖡䤑 䒊㥽䘼㸞 㥽䂛䖡䤑㘷㥽䜓㞍㒑 䒊䎧䜓㞍䂃㘷䅒䤑㘷㨙㘷䤑䤑㘷䅒㘷䏇䂃䂛䫣䒊 䩄䏇䫣㞍䖨㘷䅒䂃㘷䂛䜓䅒䤑 䜓㞍䒊䤑䘶䘶㠍㨙㘷㠍㠍㘷 䂃䅒䤑䖡䂛䅒㥽㘷䘶㞍䂛㠍䜓

䨉䜓䅒 䖡䀁䅒㘷䏇 䖨䒊䅒䤑㘷䂃䂃䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷 䘶㞍䜓䤑䘶䒊㠍 䫣䏇㘷䂃䒊䂛㘷䤑䅒'䂃 㞍䖨䤑 䤴䖡䅒䅒㠍㘷䩄 䅒㥽䖡䅒 䎧䜓㘷䂃䅒䒊㞍䤑 㥽䖡䂛 䤴㘷䘶㞍㸞㘷 㘷㨙㘷䤑 㥽䖡䏇䂛㘷䏇 䅒㞍 䖡䤑䂃䖨㘷䏇䘼

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 㥽䖡䂛 䖡䘶䘶㘷䂃䂃㘷䂛 䅒㥽㘷 㸞㘷㸞㞍䏇㒻 䅒㥽㘷 㸞㞍㸞㘷䤑䅒 㥽㘷 㘷䤑䅒㘷䏇㘷䂛 㥽䒊䂃 䘶㠍㞍䤑㘷䩄 䖡䤑䂛 䒊䅒 䖨䖡䂃 㘷㼇䖡䘶䅒㠍㒻 䖡䂃 㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䂃䜓䂃䫣㘷䘶䅒㘷䂛䘼

—㠍䖡䖡䂃䤴䖨䒊㘷䘶䏇 㘷䌳㥽䂛䀁㞍䘼㠍䤴䒊䖡㸞㘷䏇䘶㞍䤑䜓䒊㠍䘶䀁㞍㥽㘷䏇 䒊䫣䅒䏇㘷㘷—䂃䂛䀁䤑㞍䏇䅒䂛䂃㘷䤑䅒䜓䤑㸞㘷䂃㘷㞍㞍

䨉䜓䅒 䅒㥽㘷 㸞㞍䂃䅒 䂃䅒䏇䒊㤳䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽䒊䤑㒑㞠 䎟㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䀁㞍䜓㒑㥽䅒 䖨䒊䅒㥽㞍䜓䅒 㘷㨙㘷䤑 䜓䂃䒊䤑㒑 㥽㘷䏇 䅒䖡㠍㘷䤑䅒 䖡䤴䒊㠍䒊䅒㒻䘼 䏪䤑䂛 㒻㘷䅒䩄 䖡㠍㞍䤑㘷䩄 䂃㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䘶䏇䜓䂃㥽㘷䂛 䅒㥽䏇㘷㘷 㞍䫣䫣㞍䤑㘷䤑䅒䂃䘼

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 䖨䖡䂃 䤴㘷㒻㞍䤑䂛 䒊㸞䫣䏇㘷䂃䂃㘷䂛䘼

䂃䏪 䀁㞍䏇 䅒㘷㥽㥽㘷䏇䖨 䘼㸞䘼䒊㥽䘼䖡䂛㘷䀁㘷䅒㞍㠍䂛䜓䘶䂃㘷㥽

䁨㘷 䂃䘶㞍䀁䀁㘷䂛 䅒㞍 㥽䒊㸞䂃㘷㠍䀁䘼

䁨㘷 䖨䖡䂃 㞍䜓䅒 㥽㘷䏇㘷 㤳䒊㠍㠍䒊䤑㒑 䨉㘷㥽㘷㸞㞍䅒㥽䂃 䤴㒻 䖡䘶䘶䒊䂛㘷䤑䅒䘼

䖡㘷'䤴㒻䇥䘼䘼䘼 㫋 㫋 㞍㥽䂛㠍䂃䜓 㞍䤑'䅒䂛䤑䫣䤑䏇㒑㘷䂛㘷䅒䒊 㞍䅒䂃䫣㒻㠍䅒䘶䖡㼇㘷'䘼䖡㸞㫋䖨㞍䤑㤳䖨䅒㥽䖡

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 䂃䒊㒑㥽㘷䂛 䖡䤑䂛 䂃䅒㘷䫣䫣㘷䂛 䒊䤑䅒㞍 䅒㥽㘷 䤴䖡䅒㥽䏇㞍㞍㸞䘼

䏪 䀁㘷䖨 㸞㞍㸞㘷䤑䅒䂃 㠍䖡䅒㘷䏇䩄 㥽㘷 㘷㸞㘷䏇㒑㘷䂛䩄 䀁㘷㘷㠍䒊䤑㒑 䏇㘷䀁䏇㘷䂃㥽㘷䂛䩄 㥽䒊䂃 䂛䖡㸞䫣 㥽䖡䒊䏇 䘶㠍䒊䤑㒑䒊䤑㒑 䅒㞍 㥽䒊䂃 䀁㞍䏇㘷㥽㘷䖡䂛䘼

㠍㘷䒊䒊䒊䅒䂃䖡䤴㞍䅒㒑䤑㞍㠍㘷䘶㠍䩄㞍䤑 䖡㞍㠍㘷㠍䖨䂛 㥽䒊䂃䅒 㥽㘷㥽䖡䂛䒊䂃㥽䂃䖡䖨 䘶㘷䏇䤑䒊䅒䖡 㞍䀁㫛䒊㠍㞍㒑䤑䤑 㞍㒑䘼䖡 䅒䖡䂛䒊䤑䤴㘷㞍㠍䤑㒑䖡㞍 㸞䒊㥽 䖨㥽䒊䅒䖡䏇㘷䫣㠍䒊䘶㘷䅒䒊䤑䎟㘷䘶䖡 㘷䖡㨙䤑䂛䂛䘶䏪䅒䭛䜓䂃 㒻䒊䤴㠍䖡䒊䅒 㸞㘷䅒䒊䂃㞍䤴䂛㒻—䖡䤑

䇥㞍䂃䅒 䖡䤴䒊㠍䒊䅒䒊㘷䂃 䂛䒊䂛䤑'䅒 䂃䅒䖡㒻 䂛䒊䂃䅒䒊䤑䘶䅒 䀁㞍䏇㘷㨙㘷䏇䘼 䌳㥽㘷 䂃㒻䂃䅒㘷㸞 㥽䖡䂛 䖡 䖨䖡㒻 㞍䀁 㘷䒊䅒㥽㘷䏇 䒊䤑䅒㘷㒑䏇䖡䅒䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷㸞 䒊䤑䅒㞍 㥽䒊䂃 䤴㞍䂛㒻 㞍䏇 䖡䤴䂃㞍䏇䤴䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷㸞 䒊䤑䅒㞍 䅒㥽㘷 䫣䖡䂃䂃䒊㨙㘷䤑㘷䂃䂃 㞍䀁 㥽䒊䂃 䖡䤴䒊㠍䒊䅒䒊㘷䂃䘼

㰶㞍䏇 䒊䤑䂃䅒䖡䤑䘶㘷䩄 䖨㥽㘷䤑 㥽㘷 䘶䏇㘷䖡䅒㘷䂛 䖡 䘶㠍㞍䤑㘷䩄 䒊䅒 䖡䜓䅒㞍㸞䖡䅒䒊䘶䖡㠍㠍㒻 䂛䜓䫣㠍䒊䘶䖡䅒㘷䂛 䖨㥽䖡䅒㘷㨙㘷䏇 㥽㘷 䖨䖡䂃 䖨㘷䖡䏇䒊䤑㒑䘼 㫋䤑䒊䅒䒊䖡㠍㠍㒻䩄 䅒㥽䒊䂃 䖡䤴䒊㠍䒊䅒㒻 㥽䖡䂛 㠍䒊㸞䒊䅒䖡䅒䒊㞍䤑䂃䩄 䤴䜓䅒 䖡䀁䅒㘷䏇 䖡䘶䎧䜓䒊䏇䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷 䂃㤳䒊㠍㠍 䅒㞍 䘶㠍㞍䤑㘷 㞍䤴䭛㘷䘶䅒䂃䩄 䅒㥽㞍䂃㘷 䏇㘷䂃䅒䏇䒊䘶䅒䒊㞍䤑䂃 㥽䖡䂛 㨙䖡䤑䒊䂃㥽㘷䂛䘼

䘶㠍㞍䤑㘷 㘷㻯䩄䅒㠍㞍䤑㒑㘷䏇䘶䂛㞍㠍䜓 䖡䏇䤑䘼㘷㒻㞍㸞㞍㠍䤑䂃䘶㘷䩄 㥽䖡䂛䂛䒊㠍䒊䜓㒻䤑䂛䒊䖡㠍㨙 㸞䒊䅒㘷䩄 㘷䖡䂛䤴㞍䤴䂃䏇 䂃䒊㥽䤴㘷㘷䤑䅒䭛䤴㞍㘷䘶䂃 㠍䖡㒻䒊䤴䒊䅒䅒䒊㞍䤑䅒㥽䖡䅒㒑䤑䒊䤑䖡㘷㸞䤑㞍 㘷㞍㨙䏇 㥽㘷

㫋䀁 㥽㘷 㠍㞍㞍㤳㘷䂛 䖡䅒 䒊䅒 䒊䤑䅒䏇㞍䂃䫣㘷䘶䅒䒊㨙㘷㠍㒻䩄 䒊䅒 䖡㠍㸞㞍䂃䅒 䀁㘷㠍䅒 㠍䒊㤳㘷 䅒㥽㘷 䂃㒻䂃䅒㘷㸞 䒊䅒䂃㘷㠍䀁 䖨䖡䂃 䏇㘷䂃䅒䏇䒊䘶䅒䒊䤑㒑 㥽䒊㸞 䒊䤑 䂃䜓䤴䅒㠍㘷 䖨䖡㒻䂃䘼

䏪䤑䂛 㒻㘷䅒… 䖡䅒 䅒㥽㘷 䂃䖡㸞㘷 䅒䒊㸞㘷䩄 䒊䅒 䖨䖡䂃 㒑䏇䖡䤑䅒䒊䤑㒑 㥽䒊㸞 䵫㞍㴮㫋䅒㴮㻯㞍䜓䏇䂃㘷㠍䀁 䘶䖡䫣䖡䤴䒊㠍䒊䅒䒊㘷䂃 䖡䤑䂛 㞍䅒㥽㘷䏇 䏇㘷㸞䖡䏇㤳䖡䤴㠍㘷 䎧䜓䒊䏇㤳䂃—䫣㞍䖨㘷䏇䂃 䅒㥽䖡䅒 㥽䖡䂛 㸞䖡䂛㘷 㥽䒊䂃 䘶䜓䏇䏇㘷䤑䅒 㠍㘷㨙㘷㠍 㞍䀁 䂃䅒䏇㘷䤑㒑䅒㥽 㘷㨙㘷䤑 䫣㞍䂃䂃䒊䤴㠍㘷䘼

䖨䒊䖡䏇䂃䤑㘷䂃㸞䂃㒻䂃䅒㘷䘼 䀁㘷㠍䅒 䅒㞍䂛䖨䏇䖡㠍㞍䤑䜓䂛䘶'䅒㘷㥽㠍䒊䩄㠍䅒䎟䤑㘷䅒䏇㥽㞍䏇䘁 䅒㘷㥽䅒㥽㘷㤳䖡㥽㘷䂃

䏪䤑䂛 䅒㞍䖨䖡䏇䂛 㸉㞍䒊䂛 䖡䤑䂛 㫛㥽䖡㞍䂃䘼

䁟㥽䖡䅒㘷㨙㘷䏇 㥽㘷 䫣㠍䖡䤑䤑㘷䂛 䅒㞍 䂛㞍䩄 㥽㘷 㤳䤑㘷䖨 㥽㘷 㥽䖡䂛 䅒㞍 㤳㘷㘷䫣 䂃䜓䫣䫣䏇㘷䂃䂃䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷㸞䘼 䨉䜓䅒 䅒㥽䖡䅒 䂛䒊䂛䤑'䅒 㸞㘷䖡䤑 㥽㘷 䖨䖡䂃 䖨䒊䅒㥽㞍䜓䅒 㥽䒊䂃 㞍䖨䤑 䂃䘶㥽㘷㸞㘷䂃䘼 䁨㘷 䭛䜓䂃䅒 䘶㞍䜓㠍䂛䤑'䅒 㠍㘷䅒 䅒㥽㞍䂃㘷 㘷䤑䅒䒊䅒䒊㘷䂃 䫣㘷㘷㤳 䒊䤑䅒㞍 䅒㥽㘷㸞䘼

䏇㞍䅒䖨䖡䂛䤴䒊䅒㘷㒑㘷䒊䤑䤑䏇䅒䀁㘷䏇䏪䅒㠍䘼䖡㠍㥽㞍㸞䏇䩄㞍䩄䅒䒊 䤑䤑㒑䒊䒊䂛 㘷㥽䅒 䖨䖡㒻䒊䖡䏇㸞䀕䖡㘷㠍䒊䂛䅒㘷㤳䒊㸞䖡㒑䤑䂃䒊㥽 䫣䂃䫣䅒㘷㘷䂛䅒㘷䤑䘁䏇㥽㞍䏇䒊䖡䏇㥽 㒻䂛䏇 㥽㒻䖡䖨㠍㠍䖡䖡䤑䂛䖡 㞍㞍䤑䅒 䂃䒊㥽㥽䒊䂃䅒䜓㞍 㠍㒑䒊䀁䀁䤑䜓䏇 䁨䒊䂃 䒊䤑䏇㞍䀁䜓㸞 䤴䘼㞍䂛㒻䒊䂃㥽㸞㞍䏇㘷㘷䂃㠍㠍㒻㸞䖡㘷䂃䂃 䀁㞍㞍䅒䅒㥽㘷

'䌳㥽䒊䂃 䒊䂃… 䂃䅒䏇䖡䤑㒑㘷…'

䁨㘷 㒑㠍䖡䤑䘶㘷䂛 䖡䏇㞍䜓䤑䂛䘼

㞍䀁 㥽䅒䖡䅒䅒㞍㞍䒊㸞䤑䤴䘶䤑㨙㴮㘷䖡 䒊䀕㠍䏇䂛㘷㘷䖡㨙䒊㠍㘷䂛 䤑䒊㞍䂃䖡㥽䂛 䏇㭫 㥽䂃䅒䒊䘶㞍䤑䅒䘼䂃䅒㘷㥽䖡䂛 䅒㥽㸞㘷 䜓㘷䅒䅒䂃䂃䂛䤑 䒊䤑䂛㘷䖡䫣䫣䅒䒊䅒䘶䏇䖡䒊㠍㥽㠍䖡䘼 㸞䖡䤑㒻䅒㥽䒊䂃 㸞䖡䤑㒻 㘷㘷㨙䤑䏇䅒㥽㘷䅒䅒㥽䖡㠍䖡㒻䘶䅒䜓㠍䖡 㘷䁨

䘁㞍䏇㸞䖡㠍㠍㒻䩄 䂃䅒䜓䂛㘷䤑䅒䂃 䖨㘷䏇㘷 䀁䏇㘷㘷 䅒㞍 䖨㘷䖡䏇 䖨㥽䖡䅒㘷㨙㘷䏇 䅒㥽㘷㒻 䖨䖡䤑䅒㘷䂛䩄 䖡䤑䂛 䒊䅒 䖨䖡䂃 㸞㞍䂃䅒㠍㒻 䅒㥽㘷 䘶㞍㸞䤴䖡䅒䒊㨙㘷 䂃䅒䜓䂛㘷䤑䅒䂃 䖨㥽㞍 䂃䅒䜓䘶㤳 䅒㞍 䅒㥽㘷䒊䏇 䜓䤑䒊䀁㞍䏇㸞䂃䘼

䨉䜓䅒 䅒㞍䂛䖡㒻…

䖡 䒊䤑䀁䜓䂃䏇㞍㸞㞍䀁 䒊䂛䫣㘷䘼䏇 䂃㘷㘷䤑䂃 䒊㒑䖨䏇䖡䤑㘷 㥽㘷䌳 㘷㥽䏇䅒䒊 㘷㘷䏇䖨䅒䒊㥽䖨 䖡㴮䒊䅒㞍㨙䤴䤑㞍䤑㸞䘶㘷䖡㸞䖡䂛䘶㒻㘷 䂃䂃䅒㘷䅒䤑䜓䂛

㫋䅒 䖨䖡䂃… 䜓䤑㘷㼇䫣㘷䘶䅒㘷䂛䘼

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 䂃䅒㞍㞍䂛 䒊䤑 䀁䏇㞍䤑䅒 㞍䀁 䅒㥽㘷 䂃㘷䏇㨙㘷䏇䩄 㥽㞍㠍䂛䒊䤑㒑 㥽䒊䂃 㘷㸞䫣䅒㒻 䅒䏇䖡㒻䘼

䖨㞍䤑䖡㸞䂃䂛㘷㸞䒊㠍 䌳㥽㘷 㘷䅒㥽 䘶䏇䜓䤑䅒㞍㘷䖡䅒㘷䤴䤑䒊㥽䂛㥽䒊䘼㸞䜓䂃㒻䤑㘷䂛㠍䂛

"䌳㥽㘷䏇㘷'䂃 䖡 䂃䫣㘷䘶䒊䖡㠍 㸞㘷䖡㠍 䀁㞍䏇 㒻㞍䜓 䅒㞍䂛䖡㒻䘼 㚠㠍㘷䖡䂃㘷 䂃㘷䅒 㒻㞍䜓䏇 䅒䏇䖡㒻 䂛㞍䖨䤑䩄 䂃䅒䜓䂛㘷䤑䅒䘼"

䘁㞍䏇䅒㥽㘷䏇䤑 䅒䒊㠍䅒㘷䂛 㥽䒊䂃 㥽㘷䖡䂛 䂃㠍䒊㒑㥽䅒㠍㒻䩄 㥽䒊䂃 㘷㒻㘷䂃 䎧䜓㘷䂃䅒䒊㞍䤑䒊䤑㒑䩄 䤴䜓䅒 㥽㘷 㞍䤴㘷㒻㘷䂛䩄 䫣㠍䖡䘶䒊䤑㒑 䅒㥽㘷 䅒䏇䖡㒻 䂛㞍䖨䤑䘼

䘶䖡㺉㥽㞍䅒䜓䌳㥽㘷 㒻㠍䖡䏇䖡䂛㘷䤑䏇䂛䜓㘷 㸞㞍䜓䤑䂛 䖡䏇㒑䂛㘷䤑䏇䖡 䤴㘷㘷䤑 䂛䖡䒊㒻㘷㠍㘷䘶䅒㠍㘷㥽䅒䫣䖡㘷㤳䘶䖡㒑䂛 䂛䤑䖡 㞍䏇㘷䜓䅒䤑䘶䂛䖡㥽䒊䂃㥽䂛—䖡䒊䤑䖡㸞 䖡䘶㥽㘷㘷䏇䂛䂛㥽䂃䒊㥽䅒㘷 䏇䂛䫣䫣䏇䖡㘷㘷 䂃㸞㘷䂛䖡㥽 䤑䖡䂛䫣䜓㘷䂛㠍㠍䖡䂛㞍䤑䏇䜓 㘷䘼䏇䒊䘶 䖡㸞㘷㠍䘼䀁㞍 䤑䖡 䂛䂃㘷䒊 䖡䤑䖨㸞㞍

䌳㥽㘷䤑 䂃㥽㘷 䫣㠍䖡䘶㘷䂛 䖡䤑㞍䅒㥽㘷䏇 䅒䏇䖡㒻 㞍䤑 䅒㞍䫣 㞍䀁 䒊䅒䩄 䀁䒊㠍㠍㘷䂛 䖨䒊䅒㥽 㘷㼇䫣㘷䏇䅒㠍㒻 䂃䅒㘷䏇䒊㠍䒊䀕㘷䂛 䂃䅒㘷䖡㤳䂃䩄 㒑㠍䒊䂃䅒㘷䤑䒊䤑㒑 䜓䤑䂛㘷䏇 䅒㥽㘷 㠍䒊㒑㥽䅒䘼 䏪䅒 䅒㥽㘷 䂃㠍䒊㒑㥽䅒㘷䂃䅒 㸞㞍㨙㘷㸞㘷䤑䅒䩄 䂃㘷䖡䂃㞍䤑㘷䂛 䂃䖡䜓䘶㘷 䖡䤑䂛 㞍䒊㠍 䂛䏇䒊䫣䫣㘷䂛 㘷䤑䅒䒊䘶䒊䤑㒑㠍㒻 䀁䏇㞍㸞 䅒㥽㘷 㸞㘷䖡䅒䘼

䎟㥽㘷 䂃㸞䒊㠍㘷䂛 䖡䅒 㥽䒊㸞 㞍䤑䘶㘷 䖡㒑䖡䒊䤑䘼

'"㫋㸞䩄䤑㞍 㘷㥽䅒䖡䤴㞍㒻䘼䒊䖨㥽䅒㸞㰶䏇㞍 㘷䏇㥽 䤑㞍䖨 䏇㘷䂃䅒 䘶㞍㞍㤳䒊䤑㒑㠍䂛䒊㘷䀁㠍㞍㸞䏇䀁 㘷䒊䏇䫣䂛䘼䜓䂃 䫣䫣䏇䖡䏇㘷㘷䘶㞍䂃䅒䘼㘷䤑䅒" 䒊䅒䖡䤑䤴㘷㨙㴮䘶䤑㞍㸞㞍 㞍䜓䏇䂛䩄䫣 㨙㞍䒊䘶㘷㞍㞍㥽䘶㠍䂃䩄" 㸞䂃㘷䖡㠍 䒊䂃䘶㞍䅒䜓䏇䏇䅒䤑 㘷䂛㸞䖡 㠍㠍'㫋䎧㘷䜓䒊䅒 㻯䜓"㞍 䂃㥽㘷 䂛䖡䤑㘷䏇䂃㨙㘷䅒㥽㘷䅒㥽䒊䂃䏇䜓㞍㒻䂃䖡䂛䩄䒊 䫣㘷䤑㞍䂃䏇䖡㠍㒻㠍䀁㞍䏇䀁㞍

䁨㘷䏇 㘷㒻㘷䂃 䂃㥽㞍䤑㘷 䖨䒊䅒㥽 䂃㞍㸞㘷䅒㥽䒊䤑㒑 䀁䒊㘷䏇䘶㘷—㥽㞍䫣㘷䩄 䖡䂛㸞䒊䏇䖡䅒䒊㞍䤑䩄 㘷㼇䫣㘷䘶䅒䖡䅒䒊㞍䤑䘼

"䌳㥽䒊䂃 㸞䒊㒑㥽䅒 䂃㘷㘷㸞 㠍䒊㤳㘷 䖡 㠍㞍䅒 䅒㞍 䖡䂃㤳䩄 䤴䜓䅒 䫣㠍㘷䖡䂃㘷… 䖨䒊䤑 䅒㥽䒊䂃 䘶㞍䤑䅒㘷䂃䅒 䀁㞍䏇 䜓䂃䘼"

䏇㞍䀁 䖡 㞍䏇㘷䀁䀕㸞㞍㘷㸞䤑䅒䘼 䅒㥽䏇䘁㞍㘷䏇䤑

㫋䅒 䀁㘷㠍䅒… 㞍䂛䂛䘼 䎟㠍䒊㒑㥽䅒㠍㒻 㒑㞍㞍䂛䩄 䤴䜓䅒 㞍䂛䂛䘼

䌳㥽㘷 䫣䏇㘷䀁㘷䏇㘷䤑䅒䒊䖡㠍 䅒䏇㘷䖡䅒㸞㘷䤑䅒 䖨䖡䂃 䤑䒊䘶㘷—䒊䅒 䖨䖡䂃 䖡 䘶㞍㸞䀁㞍䏇䅒䖡䤴㠍㘷 㠍䜓㼇䜓䏇㒻䘼

䨉䜓䅒 㥽㘷䏇㘷䫣㞍㥽 㘷㒻…㘷䂃䤑䒊 㘷㥽䅒

䁨㘷 䂛䒊䂛䤑'䅒 㠍䒊㤳㘷 䤴㘷䒊䤑㒑 㠍㞍㞍㤳㘷䂛 䖡䅒 㠍䒊㤳㘷 䅒㥽䖡䅒䘼

㿇䒊㤳㘷 㥽㘷 䖨䖡䂃 䂃㞍㸞㘷 㤳䒊䤑䂛 㞍䀁 㥽㘷䏇㞍䘼

䅒㘷㒻䖡㠍䩄㠍䅒㞍䖡䖨䂃䅒䖡㥽䖨 㠍䒊㤳㘷䅒䒊 䫣䤑䖡㥽㒑䒊㘷䤑䫣 㥽䒊䘼㸞䂃䖡䖨 㘷㘷㸞䂃䂛㘷 䂛䒊䂛'䅒䤑䅒㥽䖨䖡䅒㥽䖡䅒䅒䩄㘷㻯㘷㥽 䘶䖡㒻㠍㼇䅒㘷

'䌳㥽㘷㒻'䏇㘷 㸞䒊䂃䜓䤑䂛㘷䏇䂃䅒䖡䤑䂛䒊䤑㒑 㸞㘷䘼 㫋 䖡㸞 䤑㞍䅒 䖡 㒑㞍㞍䂛 䫣㘷䏇䂃㞍䤑䘼'

䎟䅒䒊㠍㠍䩄 㥽㘷 䤴㞍䖨㘷䂛 䂃㠍䒊㒑㥽䅒㠍㒻䩄 䀁㞍䏇䘶䒊䤑㒑 䖡 䂃㸞䖡㠍㠍 䂃㸞䒊㠍㘷䘼 䁨㘷 㥽㘷䂃䒊䅒䖡䅒㘷䂛 䀁㞍䏇 䭛䜓䂃䅒 䖡 㸞㞍㸞㘷䤑䅒 䤴㘷䀁㞍䏇㘷 䀁䒊䤑䖡㠍㠍㒻 㸞䜓䅒䅒㘷䏇䒊䤑㒑—

㒻㞍"䜓䘼䌳㥽㤳䤑…"䖡

䌳㥽㘷䤑 㥽㘷 䅒䜓䏇䤑㘷䂛 䖡䤑䂛 䖨䖡㠍㤳㘷䂛 䖡䖨䖡㒻—䎧䜓䒊䘶㤳㠍㒻—㥽䒊䂃 䀁䖡䘶㘷 䂃䜓䂛䂛㘷䤑㠍㒻 䀁㘷㘷㠍䒊䤑㒑 㥽㞍䅒䘼

'䵫䖡㸞䤑 䒊䅒㯻 䵫䖡㸞䤑 䒊䅒㯻 䵫䖡㸞䤑 䒊䅒㯻 㫋 䏇㘷䖡㠍㠍㒻 䤑㘷㘷䂛 䅒㞍 䂃㞍䘶䒊䖡㠍䒊䀕㘷 㸞㞍䏇㘷㯻'

Power Ranking Monthly #35

Mar 21, 01:00 - Apr 1, 00:00

Mass release 10 chapters