The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1784

Hearing this, Wynter led Dalton toward Ailithir.

By this point, dozens of figures had already gathered in the center of the hall. From a distance, men and women in flowing robes and long skirts stood on either side, discussing the recent events in the Wretched Ground.

The number of female cultivators here was no less than that of men. Most of them were strikingly beautiful, with graceful figures that defied age.

One thing was certain. Whether they were ethereal, gentle, or lively, all of them aspired to ascend to the Sacred Path—except for those from Mt. Nyxvarn.

They stood out like a crane among chickens, not a single sword in hand. Instead, they held either a scroll or a compass, standing silently and expressionlessly on either side of the elderly cultivators.

As Wynter approached, she suddenly froze. It was because of those two young cultivators' faces…

Elliot? Tobias? How could they look so similar?

Wynter's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she couldn't tell whether she was inside the formation or not.

The resemblance was uncanny—not just in their faces and builds, but even in the way they looked at her.

Wynter's feet stayed rooted to the ground as she frantically pieced together details in her mind. She was considering a possibility, but she still needed to verify it. This was a Human Sacrificial Formation...

Dalton glanced sideways, his brow slightly raised. He wondered if she knew those people.

The surrounding chatter continued, "That's the Princess of Velmoria who cultivates at Mt. Nyxvarn. She's grown more and more beautiful. Honestly, most people don't have the kind of striking beauty she possesses."

"Do you think that's a good thing? It's one thing for a demonic cultivator to look like that, but we're normal cultivators."

"Only Mt. Nyxvarn would take her in. Her spiritual roots are mediocre—she wouldn't even rank in the top 400."

"Mt. Nyxvarn doesn't have many disciples to begin with. They're all picked up by that old man who never made it big. He's just relying on his ancestors' legacy."

"They've certainly made a name for themselves this time. The major sects' sages will definitely remember this so-called princess."

"What happened?"

"You haven't heard? Do you see that boy she's holding? I heard from my brothers that she brought him back from the Wretched Ground. He was shackled at the time, chosen as an offering by the malevolent spirits.

"And do you know what Wynter did? She declared that he belonged to her and that she was taking him back to raise as a boy toy in front of all the sages."

"A boy toy?"

At this, the listeners gasped.

"That's... too rebellious of her."

"More than rebellious—it's humiliating. That boy is a mortal without any spells, and that is why he's completely at her mercy.

"If it were a fellow cultivator, who could tolerate such disrespect? Her usual behavior is already outrageous. Half the mountain at Mt. Nyxvarn is probably filled with her boy toys."

"Is there such a thing?"

The hall was anything but quiet now. Everyone was whispering to each other. Compared to the anomalies in the Wretched Ground, it seemed these rumors brought them more excitement.

"Do not gossip about disciples from other sects! Behave yourselves! If the elders hear this, they'll think we have no discipline!"

Fortunately, someone scolded them. Only then did the senior disciples, who had already attained some level of cultivation, fell silent.

Meanwhile, many of the female cultivators' gazes lingered on Dalton. Their eyes were filled with unspoken thoughts.

No wonder Wynter wanted to bring him back. With looks like his, even they couldn't help but glance at him repeatedly. His features carried an inexplicable allure, making their hearts race inexplicably.

That was strange. After all, they should have long transcended such superficial distractions given their level of cultivation. No mere appearance should affect them. Yet, after just a few more glances at Dalton's eyes, they felt their minds inexplicably unsettled.

The crowd's whispers and reactions didn't escape Dalton's notice. He seemed indifferent, allowing Wynter to hold his wrist, his demeanor as aloof and composed as ever.

But when he glanced sideways and noticed something, he finally spoke quietly. "Miss, how long are you going to stare at those two? If you're really a possessor, you've already given yourself away."

Dalton's sudden words snapped Wynter out of her thoughts. Indeed, she knew her reaction was too suspicious. But she couldn't remain completely unaffected after seeing people who looked so much like Elliot and Tobias here.

Before deciding to enter the formation, Dalton had warned her that the Human Sacrificial Formation was different from other formations—it could disturb one's mind and destroy one's path to the Primordial Arcane.

Those who died here were already meant to die.

She had indeed felt something different this time, but she hadn't expected it to be like this.

Ailithir chuckled softly when he saw her still frozen in place. "You've already done it anyway, so why are you afraid of me scolding you?"

"Mr. Glaisne?" Wynter looked up, her heart pounding violently when her eyes met his.

It was as if countless emotions, no longer bound, were trying to burst out of her.

It was strange. She had clearly taken over someone else's body, yet she felt as though she had known Ailithir for an eternity. The sense of reunion after a long separation was so overwhelming that she didn't even realize her eyes had turned red.

Wynter couldn't describe the feeling. She felt helpless and hated her own inadequacy. It felt as though she couldn't change anything no matter what she did, and that she could only watch them leave.

Involuntarily, she reached out, as if she had been waiting for this moment for countless years.

Seeing her like this, Ailithir paused, his face immediately softening with concern. Before he could speak, the two men, Tobias and Elliot, spoke up.

"What's going on?"

"Wynter, did someone bully you? Who was it?"

Their tones were identical—urgent and anxious. It was as if they would take on the entire sect for her if Wynter said the word.

Dalton also frowned. He had noticed something was off with her, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of it.

Finally, Ailithir reached out and patted Wynter's head gently. "Did the training expedition tire you out? Your seniors are right. Tell me if someone bullied you."

Wynter shook her head, clenching her fist tightly, trying to steady her emotions.

Even so, Tobias and Elliot still felt that something was seriously wrong. Wynter—the one who acted like she was above everyone else, who claimed that cultivation was less important than doing as she pleased, who didn't care what others thought and just wanted to laze around—was crying.

Dalton was also listening, especially to the part about "not her first time". His gaze darkened, sweeping over Wynter's features. He knew he shouldn't have believed in a single word she had said.

Didn't she say that he had single-handedly corrected her taste in men? How could she even say that with a straight face?

Wynter felt Dalton's gaze and responded with a look of her own. She was subtly asking if he believed them and that she had no idea about this.

Dalton averted his eyes, his expression cold and his jaw squared. He clearly didn't believe a word of it.

Ailithir patted Wynter's head again. "As he said, don't worry about it. I am here."

"Those people always bully you for your low cultivation level, thinking they can take advantage of you just because they've had some good fortune. Did you agree to something again?" This question slipped out almost instinctively.

After asking it, Wynter herself paused. Why? She couldn't understand why she had asked that so naturally.

Wynter wasn't as clueless as Dalton thought. In fact, she was too sharp, which was why she had pieced together so much in such a short time.

She cleared her mind, only to be met with Ailithir's doting smile. "Compared to you all, those things are just worldly possessions. Tell me about the interesting things that happened during this expedition when we return to the mountain."

As he spoke, Ailithir glanced behind her. "This child is quite handsome. No wonder you stood up to the other sects for him."

Dalton met his gaze, his eyes widened slightly, as if he had realized something. However, some things were destined, and no one could avoid them.

Wynter had never imagined Ailithir to be like this—someone who doted on her unconditionally. A familiar warmth spread from her chest to her limbs. It felt as though as long as he was here, she wasn't that unwanted child anymore.

"Mr. Glaisne..." Wynter said the word with utmost sincerity.

It felt as though, after thousands of years, everything had finally returned to its rightful place.

"You're still as domineering as you were when you were little, always claiming what you like," Ailithir said with a sidelong glance.

Then, addressing the other sect elders, he added, "She is tired today. You can come to Mt. Nyxvarn to find us if you have any matters to discuss. She won't go anywhere, and neither will the boy she brought."

His voice carried the weight of the Arcane Way's spell, resonating deeply in everyone's ears.

The other sects didn't say much, merely glancing in their direction. As Wynter had guessed, Ailithir had definitely made some compromises.

Mt. Nyxvarn had been in decline for years, with only the remnants of its former glory left. To ensure his disciples could still enter the Wretched Ground, Ailithir had negotiated with the other sects more than once.

"Are we just letting them go like this?"

"Mt. Nyxvarn can't stir up much trouble. Besides, his time is almost up. For someone with his spiritual roots to live this long is already rare. There's no need to rush and risk karma now."

"He's always had a soft heart. Over the years, he's taken in anyone and everyone, using up whatever fortune he had left."

"Who knows what will happen to his disciples after he's gone?"

"What else? They'll keep raising turtles, grilling fish, and keeping boy toys, of course."

The mockery in their voices was unmistakable, but what could one expect from a sect that hadn't produced a grand master in years? A sect on its last legs, destined to scatter its remaining fortune was beyond saving.