The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1854

Given the current state of affairs, domestic brands were being heavily suppressed. Due to the impact of foreign capital, many long-standing enterprises had been acquired. Those working in physical industries simply couldn't compete with those in the digital economy.

Entertainment, sensory overstimulation, and herd mentality reigned supreme.

People no longer strived because effort seemed futile. It was better to just lie down and do nothing. This was the trend of the times, and it was the mindset of the young. But no one was at fault. After all, everyone was just trying to survive.

But the Quinnell family couldn't maintain its uniqueness amid the tides of change, as there were simply too many parasites within the family.

The Quinnell Group's collapse left the family's six heirs in tragic states—an outcome Wynter had foreseen.

The only variable in this chain of events was that Wynter was brought back home.

Yet, the prerequisite was that the Realms of Reincarnation had left a sliver of hope. If Dalton had remained in the past, this glimmer of hope might be disrupted, reverting everything to its original course.

This made Jensen think of the cultivators from Mt. Nyxvarn long ago—those who had died, fallen, or been condemned to the dark waters of the underworld, stripped of any chance of rebirth.

Even as a Savior, he found the scene too cruel as none of them deserved such a fate. Had it not been for the slander and persecution by the cultivator realm's sects, those people might have achieved ascension to the Sacred Path.

What a pity.

Dalton must have made that decision because he had thought the same.

Jensen clenched his fists and was about to channel more of his Savior's energy into Dalton when a hand suddenly intercepted his movement.

It was Wynter. She stared at Jensen, her gaze unfathomable. "Who are you?"

Jensen stiffened in panic. "I—"

Wynter took a step closer, arching a brow, her voice low. "A Savior?"

Caught off guard and exposed, Jensen had no choice but to admit, "Yes."

Wynter glanced at Dalton lying on the operating table. "I see."

Jensen was baffled. How did she understand so quickly?

Wynter's tone remained casual. "The underworld guards didn't take his last soul fragment because of you. Since that's the case, I'll trouble you to keep watch over him for me."

Only then did Jensen regain his composure. "Ms. Quinnell, don't worry. I'll wait for you to bring my master back. Until you both return, no one will take his last soul fragment."

Wynter let out a soft, "Oh," then smirked. "So, it's a master-servant bond. My fiancé must have quite the background to have a Savior acknowledging him as master."

Realizing he'd been tricked into revealing more, Jensen choked on his words. But then again, didn't Wynter also have a Celestial Dragon acknowledging her as its master?

But he held back. He feared that he would end up spilling everything before Dalton could even return.

With Jensen there, Wynter felt more at ease. She instructed Keane, "Bring Mr. Stavius here. Have him guard my soul. I'm going down for a while."

Having spent so many days with Kaspar, Keane now understood the situation with Dalton. Hence, he immediately grasped Wynter's meaning, though "going down" still confused him.

Wynter didn't waste any more time. Her gaze shifted to the underworld guards behind her as she clasped the soul-locking chain around her own wrist. "Let's go. I'll accompany you below."

To those with the divine eye, they would be able to see Wynter's soul separating from her body before she turned translucent.

The medical staff, unaware of what was happening, assumed she had suddenly fainted.

Keane and Jensen swiftly handled the situation—one erasing the staff's memories, while the other transferring Dalton and Wynter to a private ward.

They lay on separate hospital beds, monitors between them. Dalton's ECG still showed danger, but keeping them together was the safest option.

At least, that was Jensen's reasoning. After all, he couldn't predict what Dalton might do if driven to madness.

...

The underworld guards had escorted countless unborn souls to the underworld, working tirelessly even on holidays. Most souls tried to flee at the sight of them. But this was the first time they'd encountered someone like Wynter who willingly shackled herself.

This wasn't just escorting a soul to fulfill their duty—they were bringing down a force of nature.

And Wynter was considerate to a fault. "I know you'll have trouble explaining why you didn't bring my fiancé's soul back. Don't worry, taking me works just as well. I'll put in a good word for you."

The underworld guards stood on either side, both inwardly thinking that her words might be more convincing if she had hidden her Soul Commanding Badge. After all, once the Soul Commanding Badge was unleashed, all spirits would bow to her.

Now, the underworld guards couldn't tell if she was coming down to fight or to negotiate.

The journey to the underworld was swift.

Wynter only felt her body lighten as she stepped out of the emergency room. For a few seconds, there was nothing but darkness, cold, and fragmented sobs echoing in her ears, as if someone were crying beside her.

"This is what mortals call the Path of the Dead," Grim murmured, voice low. "But what each spirit sees here is different. Some are so terrified they linger. Ms. Quinnell, what do you see?"

Wynter saw nothing. She could only hear the endless weeping and feel the loneliness, as if the entire world had emptied, leaving only her behind.

"Nothing. Let's keep moving," she said flatly as if discussing business.

When she looked up again, the three of them had arrived at the underworld.

She knew where she was because of the sight before her. There was a towering obsidian gate looming, wreathed in ghostly mist. Two soulkeepers in blue robes stood guard with swords at their waists. Their green-skinned, fanged faces scrutinized the line of spirits filing inside.

It was like a checkpoint where no unauthorized spirits could slip through. The moment a soul stepped through those gates, their entire life would be laid bare. Their good or evil deeds, every punishment they deserved, which layer of hell awaited them—all of them were recorded in merciless clarity.

From a distance, Wynter could see underworld guards studying the chained spirits. Some were timid while others were still in denial.

"Please, just let me go back once!" one wailed. "Just once! I need to delete my phone history!"

Another had his head hung low with a dazed look as he muttered, "Right, clocking in… got it, sir. I'm on my way."

A guard shook his head. "Are you still thinking about work? He doesn't even realize he died from working too hard." He then clapped his hands. "Next! The higher-ups are pressuring us!"

The underworld guards wore modern suits, their faces deliberately forgettable. Grim and Vesper, however, stood out. They kept glancing back uneasily at Wynter.

A familiar guard approached. "Did you only bring one today?" He offered Vesper an incense stick—the underworld equivalent of a cigarette, but far more potent.

Wynter ignored them and strode forward.

Grim hurried after her, his voice hushed. "Ms. Quinnell, let's think this through. They'll find out if you go in like this."

Wynter ignored his protest. Though she was the one shackled, she walked with such authority that she might as well have been the one leading them.

The incense-sniffing guards gaped. After centuries in the underworld, most spirits they had seen were lifeless husks. It had been ages since they'd seen a soul with this much defiance.

"Vesper, what's the deal with this one?" the guard asked.

Before Vesper could answer, the soulkeepers at the gate bellowed, "You're no spirit! A living soul has no place in the underworld!"

Two soulkeepers instantly pulled out their swords, their tips leveled at Wynter.

With that, he followed Dunstan inside.

The warehouse was far larger than it appeared from the outside. Under the dim lighting, a dozen men and women were either standing or sitting, their faces etched with despair and reluctant hope.

Dunstan perched on a table, lighting a cigarette. "Are you still heading to Havenia?"

"Yeah. I've got a few more this time," Meade replied.

Dunstan exhaled smoke, smirking. "Numbers don't matter. As long as the money's right, we're good. Same deal—20 thousand per head."

Meade frowned. "Can't you go lower?" His business operated on a payment-upon-delivery basis, and right now, cash was tight.

Dunstan's expression turned icy. "No negotiations. The risk is already high. Take it or leave it."

Meade leaned closer to Dunstan. "Look, it's not that I don't want to. I just don't have enough in my pocket right now. You know how my business works—I get paid after delivery. How about I give you what I've got now and pay the rest later?"

Dunstan mulled it over before relenting. "Fine, but only because you're a regular. But this time, the conditions won't be as good." His eyes narrowed. "They'll have to go as ballast cargo."

Meade nodded, handing over the cash. "As long as they reach Havenia."

Dunstan weighed the stack in his palm before pocketing it. "I'll notify you when it's time to move."

Meade walked out after the deal. When his lackeys saw him, one of them asked, "How'd it go?"

Meade spat. "Done. We leave when they give the word."

Inside the car, Wolf feigned unconsciousness, his slitted eyes observing their surroundings. They were in a warehouse, clearly a hub for smuggling operations.

Beside him, Marlin began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Wolf. Just as he was about to say something, Wolf clamped a hand over his mouth.

Just then, Zenia, who was in the front seat, sensed something and glanced back. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, she went back to resting.

Marlin hadn't ingested much of the drugged food, so the effects wore off faster.

…

Meanwhile, the Special Unit had mobilized every available member.

Wolf's disappearance was an emergency. Everyone knew Wolf was Wynter's favorite. Touching him was like poking the eye of a dragon.

The tech personnel, after clicking the confirmation button in the bottom left corner of the alert screen, saw the display reset itself before automatically showing a pinpointed location.

One of them immediately notified the rest. "I've sent out a location marker. Everyone, move quickly toward this spot. It might be where Wolf is being held."

Before long, the special unit arrived at a secluded area on the outskirts of town. They found a room and realized it was completely empty after opening the door. Only a few bowls, utensils, and leftovers remained scattered on the ground.

While searching nearby, one of the members discovered a smartwatch in a roadside ditch. The squad leader, Sheldon, took a closer look and instantly recognized it. It was the watch Wynter had personally given to Wolf, the one he wore every day.

He tensed with alarm and quickly issued an order. "Keep searching for more clues. We can confirm that Wolf went missing at this location."

The members immediately continued combing through the area. Finding any more clues would be crucial. At the same time, they contacted the local authority to check surveillance footage.

After thoroughly searching the entire place, they came up empty. Absolutely nothing useful turned up. The only trace they found was a set of tire marks heading off to the right.

"We'll follow the tracks and see if they lead us to anything."