Like being struck by lightning, Abigail's body instantly stiffened, all movement, breath, and voice brutally stripped away by extreme pain.
She couldn't even let out a scream before her body weakened.
It felt as if there was a silent explosion in her heart, countless steel needles simultaneously piercing outward, puncturing blood vessels, disrupting the lungs, stabbing through the stomach and throat.
She helplessly opened her mouth but couldn't inhale a breath of oxygen, only the thick scent of blood flooding up, blocking her throat.
Her vision twisted and shattered in the agony, scenes flashing back like a revolving lantern—
Rolando Stern's face showed hesitation, and he slowly said: "...When those children are sent to the training base, the leader... I mean, Leader Thorne... will have someone leave a curse on their hearts..."
"If they choose to betray the organization or disclose secrets in the future, the curse will instantly activate, causing them to die from massive internal bleeding. The process is very swift, occurring internally, so even a wizard... can't stop it."
Abigail could even hear her own voice—
"So what?" The woman said indifferently, "My heart wouldn't have such a curse, would it?"
"How could it?" Stern seemed to smile, "Abigail, you joined the organization of your own volition, your conviction is firmer than anyone's. A warrior like you doesn't need any extra shackles."
That face, always cautious and gentle, revealed a meaningful smile, which Abigail failed to notice.
...
Fraud!
She was deceived, all along!
Her heart clearly had such a shackle!
Maybe it was there from the start... or perhaps it was planted silently when she repeatedly showed doubt, hesitation, or even the desire to leave, while simultaneously being brainwashed and cursed.
Because she was not "more steadfast than anyone else as a warrior."
She had never realized there was such a thing in her body, not because it didn't exist, but because... despite confusion and struggle, she had never doubted the significance of the Scourers, nor had she thoroughly shaken her hatred for wizards.
Even when traveling with Braun, Abigail had shared some past events but always avoided discussing core secrets.
But now, everything was different.
She had recovered the altered memories, realized the true extent of her exploitation, uncovered the vast conspiracy involving her mentor Reck and the goblin Amanda, and even vaguely linked this conspiracy with a series of drastic changes in the American Magic World...
She even wanted to tell this matter completely to others, to everyone who could break their plans!
...
"Oh my God! What's wrong with her? Did she suddenly fall ill? Doctor! Doctor! Wait, there's no doctor! Vine, you fool, why didn't you carry a bottle of healing potion when you left?"
The cloak was startled by Abigail's sudden collapse, flying around her, wanting to support her several times but not daring to touch her.
Reminded by it, Braun quickly searched his pockets and pulled out a bottle of potion, pouring it into Abigail's mouth without hesitation.
The icy liquid flowed down her throat, and the strong magic power seemed to grasp Abigail's fragile consciousness, she used her last willpower to open her eyes, lips moving but unable to utter a broken syllable.
What surged up her throat was only scalding blood filled with shattered internal organs.
[Can't... can't end like this... the secret... must be passed on...]
Whether it was hatred or unwillingness, in the final moment before consciousness was completely drawn into darkness, Abigail did the only thing she could—
Her fingers touched her temple, trembling slightly.
The memories just entered the mind were forcibly extracted and stripped away, the silver-white radiance trembled intensely, containing the owner's dying agony and final obsession.
The cloak clumsily rolled up a crystal bottle, capturing that strand of memory at the fastest speed. Just as it finished, a muffled sound was heard.
Abigail fell in Braun's arms, her arm limp, the last bit of light in her eyes also extinguished.
...
"How... she's dead?"
The cloak circled unbelievably above Abigail, gently brushing her pale cheek with its hem.
"What on earth is happening? She was fine just now! How did she suddenly... hey, Vine, could it be you who did this?"
It received a cold stare.
The cloak shrank a bit and hurriedly said, "Alright, I know it's definitely not you, I'm talking nonsense... but what on earth happened? Can memories even harm humans?"
Braun no longer paid attention to its noisy questions, holding Abigail's gradually losing warmth body in his arms, not speaking or moving for a long time.
Until the cloak started to feel uneasy and foolishly tried testing Braun's breath, he finally moved.
He adjusted his posture, cradled Abigail horizontally, and when he spoke again, he didn't answer the cloak's question, but said:
"I'm going to dig a grave, leave the bag to you—you take all the memories here; they might be useful in the future."
"Huh?"
The cloak's voice suddenly halted, and as Braun was about to walk out of the warehouse, it floated sharply in front of him, loudly saying:
"Are you mistaken? Though she was a Scourer, you two got along quite well along the way, didn't you? Even if not a partner, at least an acquaintance, now she's dead, and you're only thinking about these bottles and jars?"
Facing the cloak's questioning, Braun didn't even raise an eyebrow but simply said, "I knew long ago."
Cloak: "Huh?"
"I knew on the way to bring her here—if she recovered her true memories, she would surely die."
Braun's gaze finally slightly lowered, resting on Abigail's lifeless face, his eyes and heart equally calm.
He said, "Stern of the Scourers, during interrogation at the Magic Congress, already stated—all members of the Scourers who can touch core secrets have a curse on their hearts to prevent betrayal, which includes Serra Abigail."
"This is how they've managed to hide for years in the United States; Scourer members don't betray, it's just that those who want to betray have died."
"Only those insignificant lower-level members... and the highest-ranking few are free from the curse's bondage."
While speaking, he also recalled the scene before leaving, the last time he met with Vid:
His gradually taller and ever more stern master stood by the window, gazing at the bustling crowds and vehicles below, softly saying:
"Even Dumbledore has to extract his cluttered memories into the Pensieve to ease his mind a little. I don't believe anyone can store dozens, hundreds of other people's memories in their head."
"So, if those memories haven't dissipated, they must be stored somewhere. Try to retrieve them all; they may hold some crucial information."
"And Professor Abigail..."
Vid pondered for a long time before saying, "When you're gathering memories, try to avoid her... according to Stern, when Abigail recovers her memories, she's likely to be killed by the curse instantly."
Braun stood beside him, asking, "If I don't avoid her, or she's the first to discover where memories are stored and insists on restoring her true self?"
"Then let her choose for herself." Vid lightly sighed, briefly recalling Carrel, "Though it might not be her intention, everyone must bear the consequences of their actions."
With no clear instruction from Vid, Braun never mentioned the curse to Abigail.
Although finally, during repeated acceptance of memories, he felt Abigail had perceived something, Braun never brought it up.
Because he had another consideration in his heart:
Restoring memories, Abigail would die;
Not restoring memories, she would always see herself as a Scourer.
Even if briefly on a different path than before, he never knew when she would turn into a blade, stabbing towards the Magic World, towards those wizards who tried to trust her and have compassion for her.
—Like Vid.
So he obstructed, though the attitude was not firm—perhaps deep down, this was the ending he had awaited?
Braun walked out of the warehouse, carrying Abigail.
Moonlight passed through sparse treetops, casting mottled light shadows on the leaf-covered ground, the Milky Way silently flowing, night winds weaving through the forest, distant streams murmuring softly.
With the rustling footsteps, Braun silently passed by the forest cabin, passed by the marks left by their battles, moonlight and starlight chasing his silhouette, stretching his shadow long and far.