Abigail shook her head and said stubbornly, "You said you would respect my choice. So..."
She straightened up and stared at him with blazing eyes, saying with utter resolve, "Don't stop me, Braun."
Braun fell silent for a moment, then smiled helplessly. "All right. I'll keep looking with you."
The third one came next. This time, Abigail found it herself in a remote corner.
The emaciated man knelt on the ground, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Please, for the sake of a dying man, tell me—Carlyle... my child... is he still alive?"
"Carlyle? Who's that? I've never heard of him."
Abigail said it without the slightest ripple in her voice, even sounding somewhat impatient.
There was no pity, no guilt, not even the warmth a human being ought to possess.
She had just undergone a memory alteration. It was as though her entire being had been shattered and put back together. Her genuine emotions had become so faint they were almost nonexistent, and most people and things in the world meant nothing to her.
Her world was flat and iron-gray. Other people's suffering was like something behind bulletproof glass—she could see it, but it could barely stir a ripple in her heart.
There was only obedience to orders in her mind, along with the belief that she could do anything for the Scourers.
In her understanding, necessary sacrifices were permissible, even natural, if they were needed to completely eliminate wizards.
Abigail herself was one such example. For the Scourers' cause, she had sacrificed nearly all her personal interests and honed every ability to its utmost limit. For the organization, she had killed to silence people more times than she could count.
Then there was Brolin. His family had died because of it, and his lover had left