The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1796

A rumor had spread throughout the cultivation world, claiming that those who managed to gather 81 spirit cores from various spirits had a higher chance of ascending to the highest realm in the Arcane Way. Such a rumor had led various sects to maintain stringent oversight on mystic spirits.

Certain spirit cores were believed to help strengthen one's physical body and reinforce cultivation growth. The higher the mystic spirit's rank, the more beneficial its spirit core was to the cultivators.

Under such circumstances, Wynter's intentions were nothing short of a blatant challenge against long-standing rules.

To the world, demons and monsters were evil by nature. As Wynter expected, the villagers swiftly turned to Mt. Nyxvarn for help after being terrorized.

Although the sects took in new disciples each year, the purpose had noticeably shifted throughout the years.

Centuries ago, disciples were taken in to be nurtured, with the hope of helping them reach ascension. But now, the sects were primarily concerned with growing their influence and acquiring more servants.

Nowadays, sects placed more importance on a disciple's background and status. The disciples who rose to prominence were either a direct lineage of the grand master, royalty, or aristocratic families' descendants.

Meanwhile, those taken in from the outside were reduced to servants, known as a disciple in name only. And yet, the villagers saw it differently.

For the villagers, it was an incredible honor if a child was chosen to become a sect disciple—a gift from their ancestors. For the family, it was an occasion they spoke of with pride.

Ignorance, it seemed, persisted across all times. That said, everyone had a different outlook on the world.

Despite being chosen, some disciples spent their entire lives serving others within the sect. To fulfill worldly obligations, they couldn't even return home. When the time came for field training, they might meet their end in perilous places such as the Wretched Ground.

Unfortunately, not all sects cared for their disciples like Mt. Nyxvarn did—Ailithir was even known for his protective nature. However, he rarely brought disciples back to the mountains, which gradually led to the sect's decline.

Mt. Nyxvarn's fall left the other sects to wonder—what was the Primordial Arcane? And who was destined to attain its enlightenment?

Those chosen to join the sects once believed they were special, only to discover they were nothing. They struggled to reconcile with the harsh truth, yet that was simply the way things were. But to the villagers, the sect was an unattainable pinnacle—one they aspired to join at any cost.

So, when Wynter and Dalton arrived at Nyxvarn Village, they hardly had to do anything to attract attention. Upon setting up the stall, villagers soon gathered around them after recognizing their outfits.

To be exact, they hadn't really noticed Wynter at first. Their attention was drawn to Dalton, who radiated an otherworldly air despite his young age. His flowing white garb only heightened his ethereal presence.

Judging from his handsome appearance and elegant movements, one might mistake him for a cultivator, all because Wynter seemed more like a manipulative demonic cultivator.

Clearly, the cultivation of temperament wasn't an easy feat.

"You need to open the book, miss, and please set the tarot cards down. Don't scatter them," Dalton said, seemingly starting a lecture.

His calm, indifferent voice was as pleasant as ever. As he arranged the crystal balls, his long hair brushed against his face. His eyes held a captivating allure, as though they were strokes from a masterpiece. No words could truly capture his beauty.

It was especially so when he glanced sideways, the faint curve at the corners of his eyes drew an almost magnetic pull.

Outside the formation, Dalton exuded a mature, intimidating presence. Within it, his youthful handsomeness stood out even more, as though he had stepped straight out of a painting.

When Wynter sneaked a second glance at him, Dalton arched a brow and handed the crystal ball over. "What are you staring at, miss?"

Instead of teasing him as usual, Wynter averted her gaze. "Nothing. I just think you're more of a pro at this than I am."

Dalton studied her for a moment before chuckling. "I like to read. There's not much to do in the Wretched Ground, but there are plenty of interesting records and legends. After all, it's a place abandoned by the cultivators. The concepts aren't difficult to grasp."

Though his explanation sounded reasonable, Wynter keenly caught onto something. "You were reading… in the Wretched Ground?"

That location was infested with monsters and demons. For the villagers who lived there, survival was all that mattered. They gathered firewood and caught fish when they could, and if that failed, they made a long trek to Kongeborg. Yet, Dalton was actually spending his days reading.

Could he have been reading when the demons terrorized the villagers and burned their houses down?

Wynter could practically visualize him standing upright by the flames, his long hair cascading down his back, and his expression cool and indifferent. At most, he would spare an unbothered glance at the chaos.

As Wynter gazed at his handsome face, she felt that the possibility seemed plausible.

Dalton's smile brightened. "What are you imagining, miss? I was afraid, too. I usually hid from the malevolent spirits. There's a safe hideout even in the Wretched Ground—that's where I read my books."

"Like where you were chained up," Wynter smoothly replied. She doubted that Dalton had been scared when the demons saluted him. He was overplaying it.

Dalton was stunned. After a moment of contemplation, he realized he had no idea how to cover up the lie. Wynter always had a way to lay him bare with her words.

Fortunately, she wasn't keen on exposing his identity. Rather, she had a far more pressing question. "You mentioned you've read through various interesting records and legends about different sects. Is there anything about Mt. Nyxvarn?

"Normally, every set has a story of their own. What about records of this village?"

As sharp as ever, Wynter had struck at an important point.

In fact, Dalton rarely spoke of things casually. He noticed that Wynter had brought her boy toys along for gathering information, though they had been sent to different locations.

Dalton adamantly believed that Wynter should let go of her fascination for men. Instead of bringing the boy toys along, she should simply ask him for answers. With that in mind, he had set the tone and now followed with a smooth reply.

"Mt. Nyxvarn once experienced a fateful, golden encounter—it was uniquely blessed. But sometimes, too much of a good thing can breed bitterness. You're aware that each sect has its own village. Just as religious frauds seek monetary offerings, the sects aim to cultivate faith."

Wynter nodded in agreement. In other words, the sect had to bear the villagers' retribution for the faith they embraced. Certain personal burdens could be purified, often through freeing souls from their sufferings. But some went beyond cleansing, carrying dark stories.

With a smile, Dalton slowly shared, "There's a famous story in this village. Have you heard of the skin drums, miss?"

Gripping her hand tightly, Wynter answered in a broken voice, "No, she couldn't."

Dalton glanced at the stream and replied, "Indeed, she would have a hard time living. A demon sought her out and struck a deal with her. For a while, she lived the best life she could… until the cultivators discovered her existence. Obviously, they set out to eliminate her.

"She was drowned right under Mt. Nyxvarn. The cultivators couldn't cleanse her resentment, so they sealed her soul instead. Yet, many have met the same fate as her in this world. After all, even the skin drums have received the gods' favor."

Wynter could hear the mockery in every word he stressed. She suddenly recalled Aranya's repetitive question earlier. Perhaps, saving those who weren't meant to be saved and sparing those who were meant to die would only lead to dire consequences.

"Does Mr. Glaisne know about this?" Wynter murmured. It seemed to be a question for herself, though it almost felt as if she was asking Dalton as well.

Dalton gazed at the darkened sky. "Even if he does, what can he do?"

As Wynter clenched her fists, he offered a more grounded statement. "It's not an easy feat to maintain one's integrity in a world like this. Mr. Glaisne is a virtuous man, miss. It's a shame that his potential is limited by his average spiritual roots."

Wynter had heard that phrase countless times since entering the formation. Why should a person's worth be determined by their spiritual roots? It was ridiculous to think that someone like Aithilir would fail to ascend to the Sacred Path.

"Are you saying that anyone with remarkable spiritual roots, no matter their misdeeds, can ascend to the Sacred Path?" Wynter demanded, her tone rising with indignation.

When Dalton silently cast his eyes downwards, she let out a snicker. "It seems like the heavens are blind."

Dalton didn't respond immediately. Only when the villagers, after a discussion, finally approached them did he reply, "Well, I think the heavens have seen things quite clearly. Why would they send down the heavenly retribution otherwise?"

Wynter was taken aback by his retort. It became clear to her that the Sacrificial Human Formation had been triggered by heaven's wrath, though its fury was aimed at humanity's malice.

Before Wynter could question further, the villagers had arrived at their stall.

A woman turned to Dalton with a question. "Excuse me, sir, could you help predict my daughter's spiritual roots? Or perhaps, could you foretell her marital destiny?"

"Count me in! My daughter is beautiful and has been raised with the utmost care. I never let her do farm work, and I make sure she stays away from gossip. She's 13 this year. If you find her to possess remarkable spiritual roots, you can bring her back to the mountains.

"The medium from Mt. Luther has seen her horoscope and said that she's destined to bring luck," another woman carrying a grocery basket echoed, beaming at Dalton with a fawning smile.

The woman, with a shrewd appearance, instinctively ingratiated herself with those above her.

"My daughter is the same as well. I adore her more than anything else."

The two women rambled zealously, their words dripping with affection for their daughters. Yet, beneath their lovely expressions lay a different implication.

"Girls don't need to be skilled or capable. As long as they marry well, their future will be secured. Of course, it's even better if they have the chance to serve the cultivators."