The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1874

For instance, the luna pearls were so bright that some evil spirits even hid beneath the stone walls. Furthermore, when the mystic birds' wine was overpoured, a celestial melody would ring out as they soared overhead.

Not to mention what the arrival of the dragon, the white tiger, the phoenix, and the Kraken meant for Necropolis. Wherever these beings were, the evil spirits would desperately try to make themselves invisible.

Each clan had traveled from all directions, stirring up countless plumes of black mist, their footsteps shaking the earth.

Wynter, lying in bed, could indeed sense such commotion.

The attendants outside didn't dare approach. They could only watch from afar through the sheer curtains. Even then, it was only to prepare the water Wynter had requested.

As for how chaotic the night had been, even if they didn't know the details, they could well imagine it.

Wynter frowned slightly, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. She was just about to open her eyes when she felt someone press a soft, tender kiss to her brow, and the grip at her waist was just right.

A deep, magnetic voice followed. "Rest. I'll see what's happening outside."

Wynter was truly exhausted, her consciousness still hazy. After murmuring an acknowledgment, she sank deeper into sleep.

Unlike Dalton, who seemed refreshed and invigorated, she clearly hadn't rested well in a long time. Heavy shadows lingered under her eyes, her dark lashes casting faint traces against her skin.

The crimson silk tangled around her slender arms exuded allure, contrasting sharply with her pale face, giving her an almost fragile appearance. It was as if the slightest pressure could leave marks on her, perhaps because her skin was too delicate.

The lingering sensation in his palm was intoxicating. Dalton's Adam's apple bobbed slightly before he finally tore his dark gaze away from her.

His movements were quiet, and even the act of drawing back the bed curtains carried a careful gentleness.

As he stepped away, the female spirit maids in the distance noticed and tried to approach, but a single glance from him froze them in place. They stood respectfully outside the curtains instead.

He wasn't dressed in ancient robes but still wore the same tailored dark suit worth a fortune. His wristwatch lay in a porcelain dish usually meant for fruit.

Standing by the bed, he fastened his shirt buttons with deliberate grace. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his entire bearing exuding nobility.

The attendants couldn't help but steal glances. After all, as spirits, their vision was sharp.

Yet, they could distinctly sense that Dalton was different from before. Not just in demeanor, but also in his attire. It was strange to them. After all, they had never seen such clothing before. They wondered if Dalton had prepared it specially for the grand wedding.

Whether intentional or not, the way these clothes draped over him was utterly striking. They knew they shouldn't stare, but they couldn't help themselves.

Noticing their gazes, Dalton, who had just fastened his watch, glanced over.

His voice was calm but carried an unspoken command. "Prepare some food, and keep it quiet. The Queen prefers meat. Have the blaze spirits keep it warm over the fire. Don't disturb her rest. You may attend to her only after she wakes."

"Yes," the female spirit maids replied in hushed tones.

The truth was, Wynter had indeed pushed herself too far. Even amidst all the noise, she showed no sign of waking. Instead, she fell into an even deeper slumber after Dalton ordered the burning of ambergris laced with the underworld's unique hypnotic herbs to ensure she rested thoroughly.

The wounds on her wrist still hadn't healed. After all, summoning spirits through merit-infused bloodletting left scars that even Dalton, the heavenly law, couldn't erase.

That was why he resorted to this method. By binding himself to her, the resentful energy could no longer fall unjustly upon her. He could even return all her lost merit to her.

But most crucial of all was her fortune. Before, he had nourished her with his blood. Now, there was no one in existence whose fortune surpassed Wynter's. He had given her nearly everything he could.

At the same time, he knew some things couldn't be forced upon her, as extremes led to reversal.

The heavenly law must not harbor love, or divine retribution would inevitably strike the world. He understood this better than anyone. Yet, he couldn't control himself.

If there was one place where the judgment of retribution and order couldn't reach, it was the Earthbound Formation. Here, he could love her without consequence to the mortal realm. Moreover, time here stood unaffected. The moment he had cast the barrier, the outside world froze.

But Dalton knew better than anyone that these stolen moments with her in the formation were precarious. They were safe as long as it went unnoticed, but once exposed, complications would arise.

He wouldn't let the past repeat itself. When Mt. Nyxvarn was struck by divine retribution, it wasn't so much a punishment for him as it was a warning. Even now, the celestial anomalies raging outside served as reminders to him, the heavenly law, that he must not yield to emotion.

Dalton's eyes darkened. With a wave of his hand, he forcibly suppressed the disturbances. This was his formation. Here, his will was absolute.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky.

Dalton spoke softly, as if to himself, or perhaps to the heavens, his tone icy. "I know. I haven't broken the order. What do you want to do then? Force me into an eternal slumber?"

No answer came. Even the lightning vanished.

A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. Divine retribution was part of him, and it understood that better than anyone.

With that, he strode out of the palace.

Beyond the clouds, churning black mist roiled endlessly. Below his throne, the gathered clans knelt in reverence. He stood at the pinnacle, gazing down upon all existence.

Countless strands of merit swirled through the underworld. Ten thousand spirits bowed as one, beholding their sovereign, shrouded in darkness, entwined with chants.

Yet, Dalton paid it no mind. If anything, his presence grew even more overwhelming. Clad in that immaculate suit, he was both demon and deity.

None had ever seen him like this. Amidst the cheers of the spirits, the very Realms of Reincarnation trembled.

…

Currently, in Havenia, Antoine stood by the window, lost in memories buried deep in his heart.

The Southern Cascadia Chamber of Commerce had once thrived, and much of its success was owed to Gordon's vision and leadership.

Not only did he build the chamber's influence in the mainland, but at the height of its power, he also discreetly sent a select few to Havenia to expand its reach in every possible sector.

Antoine had been one of them. Apart from Gordon himself, no one else knew of his true affiliation with the chamber. Of those who had come to Havenia with him, all had since passed on.

Antoine lifted his gaze to the pale, ghostly moon and remembered Gordon's words, spoken with a smile all those years ago.

"Antoine, sending you to Havenia is preparation for the unforeseen. If you can quietly build something there, all the better. I believe the Southern Cascadia Chamber, no, all of Cascadia, will flourish in the future.

"You answer to no one but me. Keep your identity hidden. Unless… one day, my descendant arrives in Havenia bearing the gold-eyed goldfish. Only then will your mission be complete."

At the memory, tears welled in Antoine's eyes.

Back then, Gordon had barely finished speaking before Antoine packed his belongings and left for Havenia the very next morning. Yet, just days later, Gordon passed away.

As they got closer, they realized the crowd wasn't just masked, they were also facing off against riot police holding shields. Ingrid's stomach dropped. The hospital entrance was just ahead, and these people were clearly here to cause trouble.

Most of them were young, shouting in Havenian, their words laced with curses.

Some in the front hurled objects at the police, while others flanked the sides, watching for ambushes. A few even tried sneaking closer to snatch the officers' firearms. The scene was pure chaos.

When someone aimed a laser pointer at an officer's eyes, the policeman instinctively shielded his vision and raised his gun. As if waiting for a long time, a nearby cameraman snapped rapid shots.

Wolf had never seen anything like this. Back on the mainland, no one would dare provoke the police like this. He stared, wide-eyed, until Ingrid tightened her grip on his hand and tried pulling him past the crowd.

But her nurse's uniform made her stand out.

Someone noticed and yelled, "That woman's a nurse! She's trying to get to the hospital! Stop her!"

The moment the words left their mouth, several protesters turned toward Ingrid, their gazes sharp as they closed in.

An officer on the inner line immediately raised a megaphone, his voice furious. "Do not harm civilians, or you will face the consequences!"

The warning went in one ear and out the other. The group kept advancing.

Wolf's head throbbed as he watched the protestors closing in. He'd come to Havenia for his own reasons, but ever since sticking with Ingrid, trouble kept finding them.

He turned to her. "Ms. Ingrid, go to the police. I'll catch up."

Then he stepped forward, meeting the approaching men head-on.

The men looked at Wolf, who was blocking their path, with cold indifference. Seeing Ingrid running toward the police, they immediately turned to intercept her, but Wolf was faster.

He stretched out an arm to block them. "You can protest, but you mustn't harm anyone."

The men didn't understand Wolf's mainland accent. One of them shouted, "Beat this brat up! I'll go after that woman!"

He tried to rush past, but just as he was about to reach Ingrid, he found himself frozen in place. Turning back, he saw Wolf gripping his shirt. Enraged, he swung a fist at Wolf.

Wolf caught the punch effortlessly in his palm. With just a fraction of his strength, he flipped the man over, sending him crashing to the ground.

The others, seeing this, charged at Wolf together. His expression remained calm as he lashed out with two swift kicks, instantly sending two flying. The last man froze in shock, only for Wolf to knock him out with a single punch.

By then, an officer had rushed over with a shield and pistol, shielding Wolf from further attacks. The remaining masked youths hesitated. After all, facing real bullets was a different matter.

The policeman kept Wolf behind him until they reached the hospital entrance, then finally relaxed.

Ingrid ran over in a panic. "Wolf! Are you okay?"

Wolf grinned. "I'm fine, Ms. Ingrid. But those guys... probably not so much."

An officer warned in a low voice, "The situation's escalating. What started as a protest has turned violent. Stay off the streets unless necessary."

Ingrid nodded, regret washing over her. She never should have brought Wolf out today.