The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1786

The Human Sacrificial Formation was dreaded the most among cultivators, and even grand masters wouldn't take it lightly. Once inside the formation, it would shift according to the owner's will, and the only way to escape was to break it from within.

Such an ancient formation was virtually unknown to anyone except for those from Mt. Dragon, Mt. Lunther, and Mt. Verfait—those who, like Atwater, were nearing the end of their lives.

The reason the Human Sacrificial Formation was so feared was that no one could leave once it was activated. Hence, all major sects had forbidden its reappearance.

Who, then, wanted to use Wynter to refine their golden encounter? Atwater couldn't figure it out.

His usually calm face now showed a trace of pallor. Originally, he shouldn't have returned to her side so soon. After all, his presence could easily disrupt the natural order of cause and effect before she regained her memories.

Though he called her his disciple, it was she who had saved him back in the mountains.

Cultivators lived long lives, especially Atwater. He carried his seniors' and sages' regrets, as well as the fortune of their lineage that had been passed down to him. That was why the cycle of reincarnation seemed to have forgotten him.

Compared to his peers, he aged slower and lived longer. After liberation, he returned to the mountains and changed his name to Atwater. But he never forgot his mission to find someone in the Quinnell family.

He followed Wynter's previous instructions and took her as his disciple, but she had long forgotten everything. This was Atwater's greatest concern.

If it were the old her, the Human Sacrificial Formation would have been no different from any ordinary formation. But now, with her original soul destroyed, she could easily become trapped in the formation, never to return.

The Human Sacrificial Formation's most insidious aspect was its ability to blur the line between reality and illusion.

Those who entered would gradually lose themselves. After all, within the formation, they might encounter the people they longed to see but could never meet again. It would make one reluctant to leave.

Their soul would be on the brink of being devoured once they truly felt emotional turmoil. The only way out was to resolve the formation master's lingering regrets.

But since the Human Sacrificial Formation's creation, no one had ever known whose regrets they were. Some speculated it might be the Heavens', but how could the Heavens have regrets?

Atwater frowned, standing firm. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he still challenged the heavens. "Where is your fairness?"

He then drew a staff from his back. "Is feeding her to you truly just? You preach cause and effect, so what sin has my disciple committed to deserve having her soul devoured? The Quinnell family are national merchants, doing good deeds. She is their flesh and blood!"

A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

…

Crow flew past the treetops, landing before a sleeping man. "The day has finally come. What your plans are, my lord?"

As Crow transformed into human form, the lights in Dalton's bedroom flickered on.

Dalton, however, seemed unaware, lying on the bed in his suit with his eyes closed. His features were cold and noble, his beauty almost overwhelming. Even in repose, he exuded an imposing presence.

The penthouse was both empty and luxurious, exuding an air of coldness, devoid of any trace of life.

Yet, in such a place, spanning over 40 floors, not a single unborn soul dared to approach. They could sense that something extraordinary was about to awaken here—something dangerous.

Crow also felt that Dalton's slumber this time was anything but ordinary. He figured it might have something to do with Wynter entering that Human Sacrificial Formation.

Crow had been careful with his words since the last incident, but he still couldn't help wondering.

Back then, Wynter had mistaken Dalton for a mortal and brought him to the mountain, keeping him as a boy toy. How had things escalated to the point of no return? Perhaps only Dalton knew the answer to that.

…

The lights flickered out again.

Occasionally, thunder rumbled across the sky. Heavy rain poured down, drenching the mountains and shrouding them in thick mist. People in long robes hurried in and out, their expressions anxious.

Beyond layers of gauzy curtains, Ailithir sat on a canopy bed within the great hall, his white hair cascading over his shoulders. He rested his fingers on Wynter's wrist, taking her pulse. With his other hand, he absentmindedly stroked his beard.

"Mr. Glaisne, how is Wynter? Could it be demonic energy invading her? Or was she injured in the Wretched Ground?"

A voice, tinged with worry, pressed on, "She fainted out of nowhere. This has never happened before."

"She was injured, but it's not demonic energy," Ailithir murmured, his fingers shifting slightly before lifting his gaze toward Dalton. "Dalton, can you tell me—aside from the demons and spirits, was there anything unusual in the Wretched Ground? What did she come into contact with?"

Dalton lowered his gaze, lost in thought. After a moment, he replied, "She touched me. And perhaps… those statues."

"Statues?" Ailithir's eyes narrowed. "Are you referring to the shattered sacred statue?"

Dalton gave a quiet hum. Then, as if intentionally, he added, "The villagers said a great deity came to them in a dream and demanded offerings. I was chosen for the offering and was meant to be fed to the statue."

There was a trace of mockery in his voice.

Ailithir, of course, caught it. "Then there was indeed a disturbance. I will prepare the medicine first."

He turned to Dalton, his voice steady. "Wynter brought you back. Her soul's energy has been nearly depleted for unknown reasons, but she may awaken soon. I'll leave her in your care for now."

Dalton said nothing, his gaze falling on Wynter's pale lips before nodding.

Meanwhile, the others were still busy. Fire basins were being carried into the hall one after another because even in her unconscious state, Wynter had murmured that she was cold.

"Mr. Glaisne, is medicine alone enough?" Her seniors were still uneasy.

Ailithir turned his head slightly, glancing at Dalton's silhouette. His voice was calm. "Some burdens were meant to be mine. But Wynter… she couldn't bear to see me suffer. So, she took it upon herself. Foolish child."

"Mr. Glaisne, what exactly is happening?"

Seeing the deep worry on his disciple's face, Ailithir let out a soft chuckle. "Nothing much. I'm just setting things right, returning everything to its rightful course."

His burden should never have been carried by a child.

The thunder over Mt. Nyxvarn was a warning—his time was running out.

His cultivation had always been ordinary and his spiritual roots mediocre, but still, he wanted to defy fate and ask the Primordial Arcane itself. He wanted Mt. Nyxvarn to remain and the hundred or so villagers at its base to be spared.

Wynter was clever. She must have foreseen his calamity and thus returned from the Wretched Ground with the offering.

If he guessed correctly, the force binding Dalton was the divine shackle. Though Wynter's actions might seem reckless, they always held a purpose. She just hid them too well. To outsiders, it merely looked like she enjoyed keeping a harem of beautiful men.

Ailithir shook his head. He knew that misconception was his fault for being too soft-hearted. She watched him take people in, and so she followed his example.

Among the three boy toys she had brought back, one carried the protective fortune of a general who was originally destined to die after securing peace. Another one of them bore the presence of scholarly lineage, and the last was a fallen prince from a war-torn land.

She wanted to extend Ailithir's life by a year or two. And in doing so, she defied fate itself, bringing those once doomed to early deaths up the mountain with her.

The three of them held her in high regard because they all understood that she was the one who pulled them out of the grim reaper's grip. No one knew the full truth—except Ailithir.

Wynter's thoughts ran deep. The unborn souls, mystic spirits, and restless spirits in the mountains all liked to seek her out to play.

Ailithir had known since Wynter was a child that she was different. Back then, under the sect's ancient tree, a tiny figure once tugged on Ailithir's wide sleeve and looked up at him.

"Ailithir, oh Ailithir, for the sake of a few disciples with mediocre spiritual roots, to deplete himself like this is truly incomprehensible..."

"Enough, everyone. We all understand that his end is near. When the time comes, we'll each rely on our own abilities to deal with Mt. Nyxvarn's matters."

"Mt. Lunther isn't lacking in opportunities. Why are you still trying to take a share?"

"Mt. Verfait is no different. In three days, at the Arcane Way Forum, we'll decide based on who defeats those juniors from Mt. Nyxvarn. Whoever wins will inherit the opportunities from Mt. Nyxvarn."

"Agreed."

"I concur."

Wynter wasn't wrong when she was young—these so-called immortal sects were not as noble as they seem.

Mt. Nyxvarn's fate was nearing its end, but Ailithir hadn't truly fallen. Yet, they were already scheming how to divide Mt. Nyxvarn's treasures and golden encounters. How was this any different from bandits?

Perhaps the heavenly punishment was approaching.

…

Wynter's sleep was restless. She wasn't cold because of the dream, but because she truly felt a chill throughout her body. It was as if all her senses were sealed as she couldn't feel anything. Everything was dark, and she was the only one left.

She called for Ailithir, but no one answered. Then, she called for her seniors, but all she heard were ghostly wails.

As she walked forward, she encountered pools of dark, stagnant water. The souls floating within asked her what she was searching for, and she spoke the name.

But they shook their heads. "You won't find them. Nothing can be found anymore. You should let go. Walk across the bridge to hell, drink the Erasure Brew, and forget that any of this ever existed. That is the heavenly punishment. You cannot withstand it."

"Your sage's mistake was defying the Heavens' will."

"Those hundred or so lives were meant to perish. It was those mountain villagers' fate, yet he insisted on saving them. He was too stubborn and foolish to listen."

"You're the same. How many times have I told you not to summon those mystic spirits and wild creatures? Do you think this is still your Mt. Nyxvarn?"

"Didn't your seniors perish because of you? Why did you have to save those people?"

"Forget it. I won't bother with you anymore. If it weren't for the golden encounter your sage gave me before his fall, I wouldn't care about you.

"Disciples like you are a dime a dozen in our Mt. Lunther. Why don't you just try the path of demonic cultivation since you love mingling with malevolent spirits so much?"

"Exactly. Isn't it ironic? She fell for a malevolent spirit, and that's why her sage is gone."

"Her sage fell to save her. She's the one who didn't cultivate properly."

"That's right. She's been disobedient since she was a child. Now that she's grown up, she thinks she's some kind of princess, acting all high and mighty.

"She even dared to provoke our Mt. Lunther. Doesn't she know what kind of spiritual roots I have? How can a mere mortal like her compare?"

More and more voices echoed in her ears, but she didn't listen.

Instead, she asked the dark water, "What must I do to bring my sage and seniors back?"

The dark water replied, "It's only possible if the Heavens' will is completely destroyed."

Wynter's eyes snapped open. Her forehead was drenched in sweat. She looked at Dalton, who was wiping her sweat, and suddenly reached out, grabbing his wrist.