The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1783

When the words "boy toy" came out of Wynter's mouth, never mind the disciples on the training mission, but even the sages showed subtle changes in their expressions.

Those who knew Wynter never expected her to be so brazenly unrestrained, even in front of the sages. Some people were already covering their mouths in shock, grateful that Mt. Nyxvarn didn't take in many disciples each year. Otherwise, this would truly be a misfortune for the sect.

The old cultivator, Zeke Wystan, cleared his throat before waving his wide sleeve as he shook his head. "Your sage has become increasingly negligent. His own foundation is mediocre. That might be why he keeps taking in those who don't understand the Arcane Way.

"Truly, the world is in decline. A boy toy? What nonsense. Don't speak like that again. Mt. Nyxvarn was once a sacred mountain, after all."

But everyone present knew how long ago that was. It had been in decline for over three thousand years. If it weren't for their ancestors' legacy, it would have been swallowed by other sects long ago.

Ailithir Glaisne was indeed peculiar. His Arcane Way techniques were average, but he excelled at cultivating medicinal herbs. However, no matter how skilled he was, his foundation limited him from achieving the Primordial Arcane.

This world was cruel like that—no amount of effort would make you more than a drop in the ocean without talent or a prestigious background.

Yet, Allithir always seemed cheerful. What he couldn't achieve for himself, he tried to provide for his disciples. As Zeke said, he kept picking up orphans from war-torn lands and bringing them back to Mt. Nyxvarn. He never tested their foundations, only saying they were fated.

From this perspective, Wynter, being Velmoria's princess, was the most prestigious disciple he had ever taken in. After all, Velmoria was currently thriving, and whatever she did seemed to align with the Heavens' will. The royal family's fate was something even cultivators couldn't interfere with.

Wynter didn't care about these gazes or comments. But, for some reason, she felt a hint of restraint when Zeke mentioned Ailithir.

"It seems you still care about your sect." Dariel descended from the clouds, his voice cold. "Since you have the ability to shatter a famous sword, you surely won't fear the Celestial Summit in three days."

The topic shifted, just like that.

Wynter shielded Dalton behind her again when several people who had descended glanced in their direction. However, none of them said anything.

She wondered if it was because he really wasn't the problem. Wynter's gaze met Dalton's dark eyes, which had been watching her intently. She raised an eyebrow. This shouldn't be the case. Based on his usual behavior, he couldn't possibly be an ordinary person.

Dalton finally spoke, as if he had been watching her for a while and could no longer hold back. "Miss, did you just say you're taking me up the mountain to make me your boy toy?"

His voice was as cold as ever, cutting to the bone. Anyone else would have felt chills hearing it.

But Wynter seemed unfazed, even tugging him closer. "Didn't you hear them call me the Princess of Velmoria? Being a princess' boy toy isn't a bad deal for you."

Since they were returning to the sect, she needed to give him a close, personal identity—one that would allow her to summon him to her room without raising suspicion. Wynter thought it over and decided that a boy toy was the most fitting role, as it aligned with her established persona.

"Stay close to me," Wynter reminded Dalton, completely unaware that every word she spoke was stepping all over his triggers.

Everyone within 100 miles suffered when the heavens were displeased. And within this hundred-mile radius, the most abundant thing was malevolent spirits.

Although Dalton was fully human, the fortune he carried was still present. He understood the principle that humans shouldn't fight against the Heavens.

Ordinary people might not feel it, but malevolent spirits feared, from the depths of their bones, being utterly annihilated by him.

Moreover, he was a mortal who had walked out of the refining flames. In other words, he was a natural-born Spirit King. His body was human, but his core was something else entirely.

Hence, when the accomplished sages descended into the Wretched Ground, they couldn't sense even a trace of malevolent spirits.

According to the disciples on the training mission, the malevolent spirits had been guarding the area just outside. Yet, whether it was Dariel or Zeke, their artifacts detected nothing—not even a trace of spirits, let alone malevolent ones.

"What exactly is going on here?" Zeke frowned, his expression troubled. "Everyone, this place is truly bizarre."

Dariel tried to use his spiritual senses to probe the area again, but it felt as if something was suppressing him. He glanced at the small divine statues scattered around and wondered if they were the cause.

"This is not a place to linger. Let's all return to our respective sects and investigate carefully to figure out what's happening," Dariel suggested.

The major sects all agreed. The situation was already strange enough—a Wretched Ground meant for disciple training shouldn't have been overrun by malevolent spirits that didn't belong here. This made them wary that the demonic forces might be making a comeback.

"What about that girl from Mt. Nyxvarn?" someone asked.

"Notify her sage. Let him teach her properly. What kind of cultivation has she been doing?"

Wynter was relieved when the sages no longer paid attention to Dalton. But the guilty feeling of being called to the principal's office—or in this case, having Ailithir summoned—was hard to shake.

These old cultivators were cunning. She couldn't believe they were calling Ailithir in just because they couldn't handle her.

Wynter's grip on Dalton's hand stiffened slightly.

Others might not be able to tell she was possessed, but someone familiar with her, especially Ailithir, might notice something was off. This time, she had entered the formation with no memories at all, completely unaware of the context or consequences.

Wynter was worried that she'd give herself away with a single word as soon as she met Ailithir. She decided she'd have to play mute for now.

She glanced at Dalton again. Based on her previous experience in the formation, Wynter realized that he was the variable in the formation.

"Lower your head," Wynter said. She considered herself to be fairly tall, but Dalton was taller still. His youthful face was deceiving, but his imposing height was undeniable.

Dalton let out a cold laugh. She wanted to make him her boy toy, and now she wanted him to lower his head, too.

A true cultivator was meant to forge their own destiny. Yet, Wynter didn't even try to learn. If she had any knowledge of history, she would have realized that the way he had steadied her earlier was far from ordinary.

Wynter noticed his lack of response. His sharp, striking features exuded an air of aloofness, and his gaze, looking down on her from above, carried an undeniable arrogance.

"So, you do have a rebellious phase." Wynter couldn't help but laugh.

After all, the ever-mysterious Dalton had never shown such a demeanor before. He was always unfathomable, like a pool of inky black water, yet gentle and devoted to her. Right now, he seemed a little reluctant, as if caught between rejection and temptation.

If they were outside, in any upscale nightclub, he'd be the kind of man rich socialites would line up to buy a drink for.

"Lower your head, quickly. It's important," Wynter whispered, making sure to avoid the large group of sword-riding disciples ahead. "It's about me."

One of the perks of having the sages around was that, regardless of their cultivation level, all disciples could ride the winds summoned by them to fly on their swords.

Dalton, initially uninterested, perked up when he heard it concerned her. He leaned in slightly, genuinely curious about what Wynter was up to, and no longer resisted when she led him away.

After all, every clan had its purpose. If someone had chosen to unleash what lay beneath the earth, they would have to pay the price.

Everything was fair. Humans had monopolized the Celestial secret for too long, and their greed knew no bounds. Some cultivators, in their pursuit of advancement, had destroyed entire villages. There were countless such atrocities.

But "seemed" was the keyword. That didn't mean they could touch him!

While the cultivators couldn't sense his depth, the spirits knew that he was not one to be trifled with the moment they got close. Anyone who dared would have their neck snapped.

Just two days ago, he had crushed a deranged sacrifice's skull to prevent them from spreading chaos. But today, he seemed... unusually weak.

"Yes, weak!"

"Do you think the lord has some other plan? He's following those cultivators."

"Don't ask me. How would I know? As long as he's not in the Wretched Ground counting stars or heads, he can go wherever he wants."

"Exactly! It's easy to invite a god but hard to send him away. Though, he does seem to have lost his powers, judging by his current state."

"Even without his powers, would you dare devour him?"

"I've never had such thoughts, you old fool! Don't drag me into this!"

"Did you all hear what that female cultivator said? She called the lord a... a boy toy."

"I wish I were deaf. No matter how deep I hid, I couldn't escape hearing that."

"No wonder these cultivators have lost Heaven's favor. They're all so arrogant and ignorant."

"Tch. The lord was born from the refining flames, answering the six realms' will. It was destined. Look at these offerings—soon, this will be our world."

"Exactly! We wouldn't have this opportunity if it weren't for those cultivators, who sought to forcibly ascend, thereby committing great sins. We must seize it!"

The malevolent spirits spoke in their mother tongues, incomprehensible to ordinary people, let alone the cultivators who had already flown far away.

…

Wynter, burdened with worries, followed the sword-flying cultivators for about 15 minutes before they broke through the clouds.

The view opened up into a breathtaking scene. The sage sect was nestled atop a mist-shrouded spiritual mountain, surrounded by ancient forests and winding streams, forming a secluded paradise.

The sect's main hall stood tall and majestic, constructed from an unknown emerald-like stone that emitted a faint spiritual glow, appearing even more sacred under the sun and moon.

The buildings were either hidden deep within the dense woods or perched on cliff edges, blending harmoniously with the natural environment and exuding a unique charm.

Standing atop these structures were several young disciples dressed in colorful robes, currently responsible for patrolling the mountain.

They stepped forward to greet the sages, and one of the disciples spoke up. "Sage, that person from Mt. Nyxvarn has arrived. He said he heard about his disciple's situation and came personally to take her back."

Wynter's ears perked up. This was clearly about her.

She was about to speak when someone called out. "Wynter, don't be afraid. Come to me…"