The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1856

"I don't understand." Wynter clenched her teeth, swaying on the verge of collapse one moment, then forcing herself upright the next. A surge of relentless fury erupted from her, overwhelming as a tidal wave.

"I don't care about fate or destiny. All I know is that good deeds bring rewards, and evil deeds bring retribution.

"These people are steeped in sin, yet just because they cultivate the Arcane Way, they are above others and spared from the dark water's torment. What kind of judgment do you scribble down, anyway?"

Even now, Clifton still found himself dazed when recalling Wynter from back then.

She had been entangled in resentful energy, her bones steeped in obsession, as though she could never break free. They had tried cleansing her soul with the Erasure Brew, but she nearly lured Morna herself away.

The border soldiers' restless widows almost all obeyed her. Even the most wicked spirits, those condemned to nine lifetimes of reincarnation as a malevolent spirit, heeded her words. And atop all that, she bore merit vast as the heavens.

For a time, they had no idea how to deal with her.

Clifton had been certain she would perish alongside the sects. After all, 18 sects had simultaneously petitioned the heavens for her demise.

How could she possibly survive that? Even if she did live, she wouldn't be happy and would wander like the dead.

That had been Clifton's deepest conviction. But now, he realized he'd been wrong.

Not only had she survived, but she thrived. Even those pitch-black eyes of hers no longer burned with pure hatred. Instead, they held an inscrutable light.

That light, inexplicably, made Clifton smile. It was as if he'd been holding his breath for years. "There's no need for you to intervene. But as for today's words, I hope you will treat them as mere gossip.

"Your husband came to the underworld. Not only did he alter your judgment, but he also ventured into the dark water's depths. You've been there before, so you should know how it feels.

"Back then, the sages of those sects you slaughtered invoked a heavenly decree. I don't know the specifics, but they were undeniably cultivators. Their souls held immense power even after death.

"You severed their reincarnation, and there would undoubtedly be karmic backlash. Some of their souls lingered and called upon the heavenly mandate.

"I thought your husband came to settle the karmic debt. Instead, he entered the dark water and slaughtered every last one of those sages' souls, especially the dozen or so who'd invoked the decree. He tore their spirits apart, ensuring they'd never walk the path of the Arcane Way again."

At that, Wynter's gaze snapped up.

Clifton glanced around, lowering his voice. "The consequences were… significant. This is the underworld, after all. The countless resentments festering in the dark water—he took them all upon himself."

Wynter's fingers stilled. She knew better than anyone that, given Dalton's status, he had no reason to involve himself. Yet, he had. For her, he'd stepped down from divinity.

Her throat tightened. When she spoke again, her voice had changed and was no longer probing, her eyes bottomless as she stared at Clifton.

"You said I came to the underworld back then. The details are hazy, but I remember one thing—I came searching for my sage and seniors. You told me they weren't in the underworld or the mortal realm. Their souls had… vanished."

Clifton stiffened. He'd assumed she'd forgotten most of it. He couldn't believe she'd recalled this!

"Since ancient times, all souls have a destination—whether dead, alive, or even those whose Arcane Way bodies have fallen."

Wynter stepped closer as she continued, "Yet, your Ledger of Souls recorded my sage and seniors as 'Unborn souls—whereabouts unknown, but bound by resentful energy, thus barred from reincarnation.'"

Her voice dropped. "How many souls from Mt. Nyxvarn were dismissed with that single line? And—"

Mid-sentence, she suddenly flicked her wrist. A Spirit Token shot sideways like a striking viper, and immediately, a shrill scream was heard.

A furtive soulkeeper who'd been lurking nearby now dangled in the air, the crimson thread coiled around his throat as Wynter yanked him forward.

"Why is it that every time I come to the underworld, someone's spying on me? A thousand years ago, and even now."

She gave the soulkeeper no chance to escape, hurling him at Clifton. "Judge, you who wield the brush that inscribes the fate of the dead... Back then, my sage and seniors' souls vanished under mysterious circumstances.

"Now, the dark arts have revived the Sacrificial Human Formation—countless wronged souls slaughtered before their time. With so many unnatural deaths, the Ledger of Souls must be riddled with errors. Yet, the underworld remains oblivious. What is going on?"

With each question, Clifton paled further. His voice trembled with disbelief. "Has the Sacrificial Human Formation been revived? That's impossible! That formation was... it was..."

"It was my formation." Wynter cut him off, her tone icy. "It was a manifestation of my defiance against the heavenly law, which I believed had been unjust. It was my desperate attempt to preserve my sage and seniors.

"But to restart it, one crucial element is needed—the underworld's resentments. Only then can it deceive both heaven and earth, feeding on human souls and earthly grievances to sustain itself.

"And here's what I, the formation master, don't understand. What resentment was left behind in your domain? And who among you, for their own gain, became a traitor, forsaking all under heaven?"

Clifton shrank further with every word Wynter spoke, not daring to dwell on the implications.

If such chaos had erupted in the mortal realm, how had the underworld remained oblivious? No, that wasn't possible! They couldn't have not known unless someone had deliberately obscured the truth.

The realization sent a chill through him. If this were true, the world itself was on the brink of upheaval.

But worse than fear was shame because Wynter was right.

The Sacrificial Human Formation was unlike other Earthbound Formations. It required a specific kind of resentment—one that could only come from the underworld.

Everything in existence followed the natural order—dust to dust, soul to soul.

If anything from a past life lingered, it would be here—the final thought a person carried before reincarnation. Normally, once one drank the Erasure Brew and crossed the bridge to hell, nothing remained.

But Wynter had been different. Her obsession refused to fade. For years, it had echoed through the underworld's depths. It couldn't even be considered a soul fragment, yet it was potent enough to terrify the immortal sects.

They'd feared her return. After all, their fate would be unspeakable if she did come back. By all reason, no one should have dared touch her obsession. But reason had little sway in the face of greed.

As an underworld judge, he'd seen too many deals struck in the shadows. The sects had once refined elixirs that bolstered divine power, enough to tempt many underworld guards into collusion.

The living fought for breath, while the dead fought for incense. They needed offerings. Wealth was easy to get, but incense from the sects? That was another matter entirely.

Had someone succumbed to that temptation and done something they shouldn't?

For a moment, Clifton didn't dare meet Wynter's eyes. If the underworld had truly played a part in Mt. Nyxvarn's fall a thousand years ago, then they really were unforgivable. Then, Wynter tearing this place apart would be justified.

The mastermind behind the schemes hadn't anticipated this. Wynter had seen through the entire scheme in a matter of moments. And she even had the gall to say it out loud, right to Clifton's face. Only she could get away with that.

"If Kyro so much as leaves the dark water, the demons and spirits sealed below will immediately surge up," Wynter added, her tone casual, eyes flicking sideways. "This feels like the sects' handiwork again."

Here, the word "sect" had clearly become synonymous with "shameless."

Clifton knew she wasn't wrong, but things couldn't keep spiraling like this.

"I must report all of this to His Majesty at once. As for your matter, I will personally investigate it thoroughly, and I swear, I will find Mt. Nyxvarn's lost souls for you!"

Wynter didn't respond to his promise. Even now, recalling those past events filled her with unease. There had been too many layers of deception—schemes within schemes.

Since coming to the underworld, certain memories had grown clearer. The Sacrificial Human Formation had indeed been born from her obsession. But how had that obsession escaped the underworld's grasp?

Apart from that certain someone in the sects, what catastrophic failure had occurred down here to allow such a breach?

She dreamed of seeing Ailithir and his seniors again. But within the formation, she'd made them a promise to keep moving forward.

But she would never forget their fates. She would pursue the truth to the very end of existence.

But now, finding Dalton's soul fragments took precedence.

She had concealed her true purpose, having sensed the unseen observers. Unlike the mortal realm, where she could pinpoint watchers instantly, the underworld was different.

This was why she'd followed Clifton into the room, discussing the past exactly as their hidden foe would want. She'd even pretended to clash with Clifton, all to lure out these skulking spirits.

Of course, she knew the true mastermind still lurked in the deepest shadows. Now that their immediate surroundings were secure, she could finally speak her mind.

"We'll investigate this matter slowly and quietly. But today, I came for another purpose." Wynter cupped a hand around her mouth so that her words would only be heard by Clifton. "I need to find a spiritual form's soul fragment."

Clifton wasn't interested initially. "Whose fragment?"

Wynter straightened. "My fiancé's. Or as you insist on calling him—my husband."

In an instant, Clifton's pen hit the floor. What did she just say?

Wynter didn't understand his shock but answered earnestly, "To find him, I need you to summon someone."

Clifton immediately understood. "Do you mean... Morna?"

"Yes." Wynter's gaze remained steady. "I seek not just his current incarnation. I need every spiritual form he left when crossing the bridge to hell in each lifetime. Only you, Morna, and I may know of this—no one else."

She gestured toward the suspicious figures in the distance. "I heard that Ghoulton has unusual offerings tonight with the Spirit Gates wide open. I'll take a stroll around there."

Then, softer than a sigh, she added, "I'm willing to trade my merit to summon his soul."