The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1795

Wynter couldn't care less about that. She knew conflict with other sects was inevitable in her fight to save Mt. Nyxvarn—the only question was whether to strike first or wait for the storm to come. Besides, it was impossible to hide that every mystic spirit in the mountain had acknowledged her as their master.

The other sects would already have noticed the change in the flow of energy following the cessation of the heavenly thunder.

That night, Wynter refused to rest as she set her plans in motion. She instructed Aranya to bring along some ferocious mystic spirits and take immediate action. If they waited any longer, the other sects might catch wind of their movements.

No one knew Mt. Nyxvarn's villagers better than Aranya. Though they were generally decent, their attitudes toward women were far from kind.

Daughters who lacked beauty were expected to labor for the family, while the prettier ones were swiftly married off in hopes of producing a son. If they failed in that, they faced a life of suffering and scorn.

Such was the reality of Nyxvarn Village, where a woman's worth was determined solely by her ability to bear a son.

Hearing Aranya's account, Wynter stopped in her tracks and ordered, "I want a list of every name in that village, including their conflicts and rumors."

She had long wondered why and how the heavenly retribution descended upon Mt. Nyxvarn. Now, she had an inkling of the cause.

It wasn't just one factor at work. Personal burdens borne from mortals had likely triggered the heavenly retribution as well.

Though the mystic spirits were tasked to terrorize the villagers, there had to be a reason that justified their actions. To truly strike fear into the villagers' hearts, they had to uncover the darkest anxieties that haunted the villagers.

After all, it was the weight of guilt, either from own misdeeds or wronging others, that bred one's greatest fear. In contrast, a quiet conscience could sleep in thunder.

To speed up the process, Wynter decided to split up. She found a cave that could offer shelter from the lightning and set up a formation there.

Dalton watched her silently, though it seemed he had something to say. In the end, he couldn't hold it any longer and stomped his foot on the rock beside him.

Lurking below, the demons who had sneaked into the mountains now learned of Dalton's existence. The moment he stomped his foot, the demons scattered quickly. Not a single one dared to manifest or release a cloud of black mist.

Noticing Dalton's movement, Wynter glanced over and asked, "Is there something under the rock?"

Dalton was never one to reveal himself easily. Now just an ordinary mortal, he intended to remain that way for the rest of his life. "Nothing. I'm just curious where you learn to set up a formation. Isn't it a taboo to include loose rocks in one?"

Wynter shifted her gaze to the sky. "Actually, I've never learned how to set up a formation, but I can recognize one when I see it."

Dalton was left speechless by her answer. "May I know the path of cultivation you follow?"

His polite tone barely masked his disappointment in Wynter.

"I'm more of the physical type. Do you get what I mean?" Wynter explained.

Dalton stood there, holding the parasol like a mere servant. Though, he carried himself with an entirely different presence.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a familiar smirk. It wasn't intentional, but perfection had always been his way. So, when he met someone laid back, he couldn't help but wonder.

Many cultivators had desperately pleaded with him for more golden encounters, hoping to advance further in the Arcane Way. Yet, Wynter was merely skilled in combat.

Well, that didn't matter. He would always be by her side. Even if she had no idea how to set up a proper formation, he certainly could.

"Could you use your strength to crush this rock, miss?" Dalton elegantly gestured toward the rock.

Once Wynter complied, she suddenly recalled something and teased, "Aren't you going to keep up with your pitiful facade?"

Dalton blinked, looking every bit as handsome and captivating as ever, yet his expression suggested he hadn't a clue what she was saying. "What do you mean by that, miss?"

Wynter saw right through his pretense but chose not to call him out, knowing that he would share any important information he came across.

"Nothing. I was just praising you," said Wynter. Upon crushing the rock, she spotted the demons' trail marks on the ground.

Was it a coincidence? But how had the demons managed to climb up the mountains? Logically, they wouldn't even dare to show their faces before the cultivators—unless someone had tampered with the barrier outside Mt. Nyxvarn.

Wynter considered reporting her findings to Ailithir and the others, but then her gaze shifted to Dalton. Had he been trying to warn her about that?

Dalton closely studied the formation Wynter had arranged, as though he were a teacher reviewing his student's work. He gave a reluctant nod. "You're quite talented, miss. The formation you casually set up is more impressive than most. You shouldn't be wasting that potential."

Wynter couldn't help feeling vicariousness at his words, as if she were being chided by a teacher. She yanked his wrist and stated, "You're far too mature for your age. That said, we're done for today. Let's head back and rest. Tomorrow, put on something nice before we visit the village."

Dalton hummed in response, but his eyes were set on the hand grabbing his wrist. He found himself growing more accustomed to Wynter's close proximity. At that moment, a newfound curiosity took root in his mind.

Where had she come from? What did she really look like? Why had she decided to enter the formation? And whose formation could have traces of him in it?

Countless questions swirled in Dalton's mind, and something seemed to stir within the dark clouds above. As soon as Dalton glanced up, the rumbling ceased.

Wynter's boy toys grew increasingly anxious about her late return as they waited in her chamber. Upon seeing her walk in with Dalton, they were stunned for a moment before rushing to her side.

"You have yet to fully recover, Your Highness. How could you go out like that?" Albin stated anxiously.

"He's right. If you need anything, just give us an order. Things outside have been restless," Jarion echoed.

Despite having been brought to the mountains, the three boy toys long had their fates sealed. While anyone was unlikely to harm them outright, they might be leveraged for larger negotiations.

Completely exhausted, Wynter gave a big yawn. "There's nothing to worry about. Go on and rest. I'm fine with Dal around."

At the nickname, the three men turned to Dalton. The latter seemed momentarily taken aback before nodding in agreement.

The disciples raised their hands in unison and chanted, "That's right! It's unforgivable!"

Seeing the uproar, Eogan gestured for silence. "As such, we must act. While the princess may be royalty, we must not bow to her status. We are cultivators, and we fear no one!"

The disciples, fired up by his speech, passionately declared their loyalty to Mt. Lunther.

"The supply of mystic deer and antelopes is dwindling. You two, head down the mountain and give the villagers a warning. If they fail to provide the proper offerings, they will be left without protection," Eogan instructed, pointing to two disciples.

The two disciples acknowledged his command with a respectful salute. Eogan then dismissed the rest and made his way into the hall, while the disciples filed out.

Just as Eogan entered the hall, a figure—cloaked in a long robe, with only his sharp eyes gleaming—appeared behind him.

"Mr. Broithe, we've hunted some mystic spirits just now and extracted their spirit cores," the mysterious figure reported and handed over several spirit cores, including the ones from the antelopes that Wynter had encountered earlier.

Eogan took the spirit cores, barely able to suppress the surge of joy within. Despite being the head of Mt. Lunther, he held little authority as he was held in check by the Council of Elders. One word from the council, and he would be stripped of his position.

Each time the disciples returned with the mystic spirits and spirit cores, the Council of Elders claimed them all for themselves, leaving Eogan with nothing.

A bitter resentment festered in his heart. The council cared little as long as the offerings arrived on time. If there was even the slightest delay, they would apply pressure to Eogan. And, if the offerings fell short, they wouldn't hesitate to remove him from his post entirely.

Eogan clenched his fists, recalling the unpleasant memories. He had intended to swiftly ascend to the highest realm of the Arcane Way through the power of the spirit cores, rising above the council and trampling them ruthlessly.

A twisted grin played at Eogan's lips as he stared at the spirit core in his hand. It was an expression that no one had ever seen before. However, the cloaked figure showed no surprise, as if he had long known that Eogan was a demon veiled in gentleness.

Moments later, Eogan composed himself and turned to the cloaked figure. "Do your best to gather more spirit cores."

"Yes, Mr. Broithe," the cloaked figure replied, nodding in acknowledgment at his order.

Eogan waved him off. Yet, as soon as the cloaked figure turned around, he stretched out his palm. A thin strand of black thread slipped into the cloaked figure's body, yet he remained unaware as he walked away.

Eogan gave a cold sneer. He would never allow anything to threaten him—after all, the cloaked figure knew too much. If he was ever betrayed, his grand scheme could be ruined.

Not only would the council hold him accountable, but he would also face oppression from the other sects. He would be utterly doomed.

Approaching the bookshelf nearby, Eogan pulled out a book to reveal a button. Pressing it, the bookshelf slowly slid aside. Once it stopped, he replaced the book and stepped inside the secret passage before the bookshelf shifted back into place.

The inner chamber lit up upon his entry, unveiling a lavishly decorated space. The room was filled with 81 sandalwood coffins, each spacious enough to hold the corpse of a mystic spirit.

Eogan opened one of the sandalwood coffins and carefully placed the spirit core inside. He could barely contain his grin. "80 corpses and spirit cores collected. The day I have the last one will be the day I rise to power!"