The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1863

On the River of Forgetfulness, reality felt as insubstantial as a blurry dream. Wynter, her eyes shut, seemed to have lost all sense of reality. Her bleeding fingers offered a feast to the evil spirits. As they invaded her unconscious mind, she felt herself being drawn back to that moment in time.

Alone in the deep shadows, she stumbled forward without a path, with only the weight of her loneliness pressing in. Faint whispers slithered into her ears, soft and coaxing.

"Come with us… Why are you still resisting? Your mentor and peers are dead. They were good people, just like you, but look where it led. None of you found peace. Yet, the children of evil thrive. They were reincarnated as officials or promoted to power. Nobody cares about the justice you seek.

"If you join us, we'll tell you who they are now. Your merits can free us from this hell. And once we reach the surface, you'll be the one to decide their fate."

Another voice coaxed, "That's right. Those people don't deserve to live. And it's not just the sects. You faced the same kind of rot during your missions, too, didn't you? You saved lives at the borders. You and your team crushed crime syndicates. But what did you get?

"Only a handful ever made it to the higher ranks, but how many of them truly cared about your team? The Special Unit sounds grand, yet no one will ever know you're a hero. They never even heard your name because you did the dirty work in the dark.

"It's just like when you broke the sects' rules. You didn't understand their games, and they razed Mt. Nyxvarn to preserve their authority.

"In the end, it's your attachment that doomed you all. Stop fighting and come with us."

Indeed, what was the point of persisting?

Wynter's finger twitched at those words. She couldn't make out the voices' faces, nor could she grasp her own state. Little did she know that she had been engulfed by a swirling black mist. Weighed down by personal burdens, her face was shrouded in resentment.

Though the evil spirits in the River of Forgetfulness never attacked a soul physically, their words cut deep into the heart.

Wynter's Arcane mind had always been set on justice. However, true fairness simply didn't exist in this harsh reality.

…

Meanwhile, at the borders of the realms, where the living and the dead crossed paths, the air in the underworld grew colder as one ventured deeper. Occasionally, strange whispers slithered into the ears.

Normally, even with the underworld guard's guidance, it was a difficult journey for a soul to reach the River of Forgetfulness. However, it was a different case for Dalton.

Not because of his special qualities, but because of the red thread tied around his wrist. The red thread was nourished by the blood of one with great merits. Apparently, someone had offered their lifeblood to guide Dalton on the path to the River of Forgetfulness.

The underworld guard, Cayden Howe, couldn't help glancing at Dalton's wrist. The reason was simple—for any soul to enter the River of Forgetfulness, they had to relinquish their memories and body. In other words, the River of Forgetfulness was a place of no return.

Some souls successfully reached the river only to perish there. Their memories were erased after drinking the Erasure Brew. Yet, Dalton was different.

"We've arrived, my lord," Cayden reported, eyes gazing at the horizon to the west.

The River of Forgetfulness was nothing like the rivers of the living world. Its waters were as dark and thick as ink. A heavy mist swirled above the water surface, pulling at any soul that dared approach. In the distance, the Underworld Bridge's silhouette loomed.

Normally, Morna should be stationed at the bridge, preparing bowls of soup that erased the memories of the souls passing through. Yet, she wasn't there.

"Where's Morna?" Cayden was puzzled. They could see other underworld guards, hauling the soul-drawing chains and guiding the unborn spirits toward the River of Forgetfulness for their reincarnation.

"We can't reach the heart of the river without Morna." Cayden groaned, scratching his head in frustration.

Dalton silently gazed at the river for a moment before pointing out. "There's a wooden boat."

Before Cayden could reply, Dalton leaped onto the wooden boat's bow. Instantly, the river churned violently as countless evil spirits grabbed onto the wooden boat. Their mouths were agape, eager to devour the soul that had walked recklessly into danger.

But the next second, the evil spirits froze, and their faces slowly burned to ash. Dalton's eyes, once dull and calm, now glowed a bloody red. Though his poise and grace remained, his temperament had changed—a sinister edge cut across his handsome face.

That was the true essence of a Spirit King, a being who delivered death without a shred of mercy. As Cayden watched the scene, he gulped fearfully.

In fact, the wooden boat was a lure set by the evil spirits lurking within the River of Forgetfulness. When souls attempted to cross the river on their own, the sight of the boat would bring them hope. Alas, they would be devoured by the river's dark currents.

But now, none of the evil spirits dared to approach the boat.

In the midst of the thick fog, the conspicuous red thread guided the way. No soul had ever seen one rowing across the River of Forgetfulness in a sleek black suit. Dalton sliced through the river with a single stroke, tearing apart years of resentments and sorrows.

…

Somewhere in Havenia, an individual sought justice in his own way—he was none other than Wolf.

Legend spoke of how tremendous an achievement it would be if one could guide an ancient, fearsome beast toward righteousness. And in Wolf's case, Wynter was his guide.

Standing in the middle of the busy street, Wolf took in the bustling crowds around him. It was his first time in Havenia, where the majority of the people spoke Cantonian instead of the familiar Cascadian.

As Wolf wandered around, he unknowingly reached a rotunda, where the atmosphere felt oddly comforting. He lifted his gaze and saw a signboard reading, "Skuhald".

Overrun by people and lawlessness, Skuhald had long since become a breeding ground for illegal trades and violence—a dark haven fueling a thriving underground economy.

It was that very corruption that called to Wolf. But before he could take another step, a voice called out from behind.

"Don't be reckless, little boy. This is Skuhald," a man said.

Wolf raised his hand in response, only to let it down when he realized he couldn't understand the man's thick accent. When he tried to reply with gestures, the man frowned in confusion.

Realizing that Wolf wasn't from Havenia, the man attempted to explain in his broken Cascadian. However, he discovered that his clumsy words only muddled the explanation further. Without a choice, he decided to lead Wolf out of Skuhald first.

Once on the street, the man took out his phone and quickly typed a message. "You're from the mainland, aren't you? There are dangerous places in Havenia. Don't get close to them. It's dangerous!"

As the diners chatted away in Cantonian, Wolf struggled to follow their conversation. Those in the know couldn't help but burst into laughter.

At that moment, the young woman rose from her seat and cast a sharp glare at the diners.

"Who hasn't been through tough times? This boy gave all the money he had. He never thought of running away without paying. Can't you show some restraint and stop your rude prejudice against the mainlanders? As they said, prejudice is the child of ignorance—that applies to all of you," she berated.

The diners fell silent at her admonishment and turned back to their meals.

The young woman, Ingrid Chamberlain, looked at the waiter and said in Cantonian, "I'll cover the rest of his bills. I'll settle everything later."

She then switched to Cascadian and addressed Wolf. "I've taken care of your bill, little boy. Where are your parents? Why are you here alone?"

"I came here in secret," Wolf replied, shaking his head.

Ingrid was surprised. "Why would you come here alone? It's too dangerous."

Wolf grinned. "I have business to attend to, but my stomach got the better of me."

Wolf talked in bits and pieces, but Ingrid patiently listened. She pinched his cheeks and said, "You should be more careful next time. Some spots in Havenia can be pretty dangerous. By the way, do you have a place to stay?"

Wolf shook his head. He had been so focused on satisfying his hunger that he hadn't thought about where he would sleep. In the end, he even used up all his money on food.

Ingrid gave a knowing hum. "If you trust me, you can stay at my place and contact your family. Otherwise, it might be tough for you in Havenia, especially since you know no one."

Meeting Ingrid's gaze, Wolf found no hints of malice in her eyes and agreed to her proposal. "Alright. Thank you, miss."

"Good boy. I'll take you back after my meal." Ingrid smiled, caressing his head.

Aside from Wynter, Ingrid was the second person to caress Wolf's head. However, he didn't feel annoyed at all. He could tell that Ingrid was a kind soul.

Moments later, Ingrid summoned the waiter to settle the bill. Once she left the restaurant, she led Wolf to her house. "What's your name, little boy?"

"My name is Wolf!" came Wolf's reply.

Ingrid chuckled. "What a cute name. I'm Ingrid Chamberlain. You can just call me Ingrid."

"Okay, Ms. Ingrid." Wolf complied.

Ingrid caressed Wolf's head once more. "Such a polite boy. That said, your hair could use a trim. Let me take you for a haircut."