Prologue

In the shadow of death, there are corpses scattered across the mountains and fields. These are human bodies. Oh my God! These are the bodies of people who have been killed by others

In the air, what cannot be concealed is a sense of sorrow—a strong, pungent smell of blood that lingers intensely. Even after several hours of the wind blowing from mhetushu.com, the scent of blood has yet to dissipate, causing anyone to feel a pang of anxiety.

The wind blows gently, so lightly that it resembles the hand lifting the red veil of a bride, tender enough to make one feel somewhat intoxicated. And books.

Bodies lay scattered in disarray, utterly devoid of any discernible pattern, much like discarded weapons strewn across the ground, having lost all semblance of vitality

The tragedy of the human world, the tragedy of life, the tragedy of death, the tragedy of war! And - illustrations - books

The heart-wrenching sensation also stems from the mournful cries and shrieks of the cold crows in the sky. The brilliance of the sun is not very apparent; in fact, the sunlight today is quite good, yet it seems dim over this expanse of sky. This is the result of countless cold crows, their gray wings appearing to be intertwined with the shadow of the grim reaper of books

The few dilapidated carts, now reduced to splintered wood, were emitting faint wisps of blue smoke. Indeed, these were carts that had fallen into such disrepair that they could no longer be used. The only remnants of their former shape were perhaps the two tall wheels. The cart body lay collapsed on the ground like a warhorse pulling a cart, while the tattered banners lay sprawled on the ground, seemingly narrating a tragedy that was difficult to depict.

This is a very discordant world, absolutely discordant. The discord lies in this wind! Apart from this gentle wind and its deceptive softness, everything else appears so cruel and desolate