There was a village in the middle of a forest. It once used to be very lively, with people living peacefully. However, now only one person stood in the middle of the village; it was a boy of thirteen or fourteen years old. The bright sunlight touched his face as he looked up at the sun. He felt his face in his hands. There was a streak of blood on his face, and he slowly wiped it off with his hands.

He looked around, and all he could see were corpses, old, young, and middle-aged. There were slits on the necks of even young children. Rivers of blood flowed all around the village as the boy walked around the village. He was ordered not to leave any survivors. Pull out their roots—that was the order. Nobody would believe a 13-year-old boy could handle this horrible task, but reality proved that he could.