The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1846

That sentence struck Wynter at her soft spot.

Ailithir understood what she, his youngest disciple, valued the most. He had always known about her deep loyalty concealed by her expressionless face.

Back then, when he first brought her up the mountain, she had never once questioned him about why the royal family had abandoned her. When he foraged for herbs, she would follow him while keeping her distance.

At first, he had assumed that she simply wasn't fond of showing affinity.

Then, one day, a thunderstrike trial descended over Velmoria. Ailithir's spells were disrupted, and Wynter ran off alone after staring at him for a long moment.

When she returned, she was drenched from head to toe. Clutched in her hands were medicinal herbs from the sect.

She was extremely sensible at her young age—she never had people worry about her. Her first words to him were, "I don't want to go back. I'll only stay on Mt. Nyxvarn."

Velmoria's royal family had sent people over to fetch her. After all, they couldn't possibly allow a princess to live like this, as such a thing would tarnish their dignity.

It wouldn't sound good if word got out. After all, even the most vicious beast would never hurt their own child. Velmoria's king, Bennett Vogel, wanted to maintain his title as the "Benevolent Ruler".

People often said that a child of demonic manifestation was doomed to harbor resentment, and even the gods themselves could not save them.

Yet, Wynter had never shown any resentment. She was not the type to be generously forgiving, either. She simply told them, "I know well what Father and Mother want. Go back and tell them that I do not resent them, but they should not trouble me, either.

"If other people ask, just say that I have willingly chosen the path of cultivation after gaining enlightenment."

At the time, she was only a child. Her delicate face brought a hint of maturity and wisdom far beyond her age. "Don't bring trouble to Mt. Nyxvarn."

Wynter was already thinking about protecting others at a young age. Why was she condemned just because she was of a "demonic manifestation"?

If the Sacrificial Human Formation was not broken, she would be stuck in the past forever.

The worry in Ailithir's gaze nearly drowned her. She wavered for a moment before clenching her right fist tightly. She knew that someone was waiting for her outside.

She had been stuck here for too long. If she didn't leave soon, things could go terribly wrong for the Quinnells and the Chamber of Commerce.

"Silly girl, the one who set the formation is still out there." Ailithir got to the heart of the matter. "Would you let him get away with it?"

Wynter slowly lifted her head. "I'll grind his bones to dust and shatter his soul into nothingness."

As she spoke, a faint, scarlet hue flickered in her eyes—the long-buried resentment within her.

She remembered her childhood spent at the Yates Villa. The people there used to say that she was gloomy and unlikable, as compared to Ewan and Wanda. They said her eyes were always hollow when she looked at people. It didn't help that she had bipolar disorder, too.

Not a single child ever wanted to play with Wynter. Charlie and a group of kids her age had even pulled a prank on her, tricking her into thinking she was playing hide-and-seek with them.

She hadn't believed them. She stood in place, waiting, but Ewan and Wanda never came looking for her, either. For quite some time, they had even been afraid of her.

As she recalled her past, she also remembered why she had always felt like she had lived two lifetimes in the present world.

Someone didn't want her to be reborn, which was why the Quinnells' fate had been severed. Someone had stolen her fortune.

Ailithir was right—that person was still outside the formation. She couldn't stay trapped here.

Wynther loosened her grip. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, "I won't let him get away. I won't spare anyone who has harmed you or my fellow cultivators!"

He gazed at her. "I know. I also know what you've done. Most of all, I know that you have never been one to slaughter the innocent. The sects have been corrupt for a long time. It is we, the so-called elders, who lack your courage.

"The older one gets, the more they crave immortality and ascension. Cultivators possessed with this mindset have become a blight upon the people. Someone's trying to trap you in this formation by exploiting your stubbornness. Keep this in mind, and be vigilant."

No matter the time or place, Ailithir still couldn't help but worry about her. He offered endless reminders, saying, "I've read your divination many times. Though I do not know what kind of future you come from, one thing is clear—you would never allow innocent lives to be toyed with.

"Whoever this person is, you will not let their schemes succeed. A Sacrificial Human Formation requires human blood to sustain it, so various sects had long declared it forbidden. Yet, someone in the present still uses it—I trust you already know who."

"Don't worry, Mr. Glaisne." Wynter rose to her feet. Compared to when she first stepped in just now, there was now a hint of determination in her gaze. "I have always known who deserves my wrath, and that will never change."

She had already killed everyone from the sects who fought over Mt. Nyxvarn's golden encounters. However, there was one exception—Isidore, who had a soul fragment.

Back then, she hadn't spared the effort to hunt down a mere fragment. After all, none of those so-called "righteous" cultivators were innocent, and that was more important.

She had indeed lost herself in the killing. She had slaughtered so many that the Realms of Reincarnation couldn't even confine her.

"By right, I shouldn't have been able to reincarnate." Wynter lowered her gaze, looking at her fingertips. Black mist coiled around them, and she saw the personal burdens she was meant to bear.

She also clearly remembered what Krishaven's king, Kyro Kaczkar, had told her. He said that she was shackled by personal burdens, having massacred the sects. She could neither cross the river of erased memories nor walk the bridge to hell.

She remembered it vividly—how the black mist followed and pestered her, echoing with the cries of wronged spirits from the sects. She couldn't sleep back then. All she could think about was finding Ailithir and the others, even just pieces of their souls.

How had those personal burdens disappeared? How did she end up with the chance at another life? Wynter didn't know anymore, but what she did know was to whom those blood debts belonged.

When she raised her head again, a subtle tremor flickered in the depths of her eyes. She wanted to trail after Ailithir just like old times, as if everything would remain the same. Yet, one couldn't stay trapped in the past, no matter how much they longed to.

If even she stayed in the past, who would kill the one behind all of these? If she were gone, would there still be anyone to protect the Quinnells?

The thoughts ran through her mind again and again. Finally, she opened her mouth. It seemed that she was smiling, but a tear had already fallen to the floor.

Her voice was low. "Mr. Glaisne, I don't think I ever told you this. Outside the formation, I met someone who looked a lot like you. He was my great-great-grandpa."

Ailithir's gaze was warm. He had always been gentle and kind. "That's wonderful. I used to worry that you had no family. But now, you've found your family, and that's great.

"I used to wonder sometimes… if there was a next life, I could be your grandfather or even your great-grandfather. I never thought that dream would come true, and that makes me happier than ascending to the Sacred Path."

He had always understood her. He knew Wynter loathed evil and what she cared for the most.

He had never lied to her, either. Back then, there were so many times when he'd wondered if he could raise a child or if he'd fail at being her family. He was worried that young Wynter, who hadn't even grown all her teeth, would suffer or go hungry under his care.

If he lived in the mortal realm one day, and if he had money, he swore to be her grandfather or great-grandfather. He would never let her be without a home.

He never imagined that all of this would come true in the future. It was magnificent. He had no more regrets now.

"If only it were that easy. The world belongs to the younger generation now—old folks like us are just about ready to bow out."

Fabian took a sip of tea and looked at him. "I think you've got what it takes. You can give it one last push before you retire."

Chuckling, Virgil raised his cup of tea like a toast. "Hopefully so."

After their tea, he gazed at Fabian, trying to find the right words. The latter noticed his behavior. "What's wrong? Just say it. There's no need to beat around the bush with me."

Virgil took a deep breath and said solemnly, "There's indeed something I wanted to talk to you about. You know how Colifernia's development has been slow lately. We really need investors, and I have to take the initiative as the deputy mayor. Since you're in town, I thought I'd talk to you about it."

"Investors?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm discussing this with you—I wanted to see if any projects might interest you. If there are, I'll give you my full support."

Fabian didn't respond directly. "I'll have to discuss this with my granddaughter. I'm getting old, so she's running the company now."

"Come on, Fabian. We've been friends for so many years, and now you're brushing me off?"

Smiling, Fabian waved his hands in denial. "I'm not brushing you off—it's just that she really is the one handling the company. She's out of town for a few days, but I'll bring it up with her when she's back."

He then gazed out the window. "The weather's changing, and it's getting late, too. Let's have tea again sometime after I settle my business."

"Alright, I'll walk you out."

The two stood up and headed for the door together. When Algar saw Fabian emerge, he drove the car over.

Fabian looked over at Virgil. "Do you want a lift back?"

He declined with a wave of his hand. "There's no need. I've got my own ride. Get back home safe."

Fabian didn't insist and got in the car. He gave a small wave, and Algar started the engine, driving off into the distance.

As Virgil watched the car disappear from view, his gaze darkened. "How shameless. I'll make sure you get a taste of what it's like to lose control of your own body," he thought.

He had his motives behind today's chat—on one hand, he wanted to boost Colifernia's gross domestic product. On the other, he was testing Fabian.

If the opportunity arose, using him as a replacement would be a decent option. Though interacting with Wynter would be tricky, the best place to hide something was usually in plain sight.

Back in the car, Fabian gazed out the window, feeling something fishy was going on. Indeed, Virgil's appearance seemed like the person he had long known, but he had sensed something off the moment he stepped into the café.

However, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, either. That was why he chose to stall when asked about the investment.

One should always be cautious of people around them, even longtime friends. Wynter had warned him to be wary of anyone trying to get close to the Quinnells. These people had ulterior motives and could even pose a threat to the Quinnells' safety.

As he thought of that, Fabian pinched the bridge of his nose and kept everything that had just happened in mind.

Through the rearview mirror, Algar caught a glimpse of Fabian's expression. He held back from asking and stepped on the gas, driving toward the hotel.