The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1806

None of them dared say they were hungry. The four sect apprentices exchanged glances, knowing they couldn't reveal their fear, so they had no choice but to play along.

"Yes, Feradach was just talking about how his stomach was growling earlier," Tierney said, forcing a smile.

They had indeed learned some things on the mountain. Sometimes, it was best to humor the malevolent spirits first when dealing with them. However, it was clear that their acting skills were lacking.

Brenda narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing their expressions. "Really?"

"Of course!" Feradach nodded vigorously.

Brenda laughed again, her voice melodious. "Then have some appetizers first. My husband hasn't returned yet, but when he gets home, I'll have him prepare some bone broth for all of you."

Bone broth? Whose bones were used to make it?

The apprentices gripped the edge of the table, glancing at Wynter, then at the window, and finally at Brenda, who was tilting her head as she watched them.

She set down the dishes, seemingly unfazed by the fact that the meat was still dripping with blood. "What's wrong, honored cultivators? Don't you like bone broth?"

As she picked up a kitchen knife, her demeanor shifted, hinting at irritation.

Wynter spoke up calmly. "Our cultivation methods require us to abstain from certain desires. There are things we cannot eat even if we like them."

"Is that so? What a pity," Brenda said, her smile returning as she poured wine from a jar. "Well, that doesn't matter. I know many specialty dishes, so there's bound to be something you can eat. For now, have some wine to warm yourselves."

Wynter didn't move. Brenda raised the wine cup, holding it just inches away. The four apprentices paled, their minds screaming that they couldn't drink it. Yet, Wynter took the cup.

Brenda's eyes lit up, fixed intently on her.

Just as Wynter was about to drink, she paused and said, "There seems to be spirits filled with dark energy outside. One of them tried to come in earlier."

"Don't worry, honored cultivator. I have the sacred statue here. No unclean thing would dare to enter," Brenda replied, her eyes never leaving the cup.

Wynter held the cup, hesitating. "So, I wasn't mistaken. There really are spirits out there. What about the other people in the town?"

At the mention of the townsfolk, Brenda's expression darkened, though her smile remained. "You're not used to it because it's your first time here. Those things disappear at dawn. As long as every household keeps their doors shut and no one goes out, they can't harm anyone."

With that, she shifted the topic. "Now, everyone, sit down and eat."

Brenda's impatience was becoming evident. Her gaze on Wynter was growing intense.

The apprentices could sense it, too. They knew their stalling tactics weren't working. If Wynter said one more word, the malevolent spirit might abandon its human guise and pounce on them. Should they try to fight?

Feradach glanced at the others, whose lips were pale. If they could fight, they would have done so already. The truth was, they stood no chance. Not only that, but if they made a move, the grim spirits outside might flood in. For now, Brenda was maintaining the fragile peace in the room.

They weren't sure if their guess was correct, but it seemed the grim spirits outside were somewhat afraid of Brenda. But why? They couldn't quite figure it out.

Wynter, however, had been observing Brenda since their encounter. Though she called herself a bride, her hairstyle was that of an unmarried girl. Moreover, while examining the sacred statue earlier, Wynter had discovered something about Brenda.

Brenda's name before death was Desiree Pennoyer, and it was written in as part of the offerings.

Wynter had also seen the wish she had made to the statue. "I want them to suffer for eternity, never to be reincarnated, forever trapped in this place!"

Reading those words, Wynter couldn't help but recall a story Dalton had once told her. Though it was framed as a tale, most of what he shared were real events.

If this was the case, it made sense that the grim spirits feared Brenda. Additionally, it was likely that she could command the spirits outside.

Wynter frowned. There were too many of them. This would be difficult to handle.

Just then, Brenda seemed to sense something. She grinned, her voice dripping with menace. "Honored cultivators, you're not like those who sneaked into our town earlier, thinking my food is dirty, are you?"

"Of course not!" Feradach reacted quickly. "We're just not very hungry right now. We were thinking of dealing with those spirits outside first."

Brenda's lips curled into a sinister smile. "No need to worry about them. They're just unwilling to accept their fate. They are always feeling wronged, clamoring for someone to save them. They're neither human nor ghost, yet they still cling to their delusions."

Her words were cryptic yet chilling. The apprentices didn't dare respond.

Wynter, however, smiled. "You're right. What do they have to feel wronged about? Those who become grim spirits and linger in the mortal world have committed sins in their past lives. These things are born from the soil, after all."

The teachings of the Arcane Way were often too vague. Rather than saying they were born from the soil, it would be more accurate to say they emerged from corpses. Grim spirits often believed they were still alive, thinking they were cursed to remain in the state where they were neither human nor ghost.

In reality, they had been dead for a long time. The underworld refused their souls, and their accumulated retribution bred resentment. Over time, they became neither human nor ghost, worse off than if they had simply passed on and reincarnated.

Brenda had never heard a cultivator speak like this before and couldn't help but glance at Wynter a few more times. "You have quite a unique perspective. It is unlike those I've met before who only preach about forgiving and letting go."

"I have a strong sense of vengeance," Wynter replied lightly. "When I saw the name of this town, it reminded me of a strange tale. Have you heard of it, madam?"

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "What tale?"

"There was a place called the Granville Village a long time ago. A bizarre case occurred there." Wynter began, walking to the window and pointing at a distant archway. "Dmitriy Pennoyer, a wealthy merchant, had an only son who suddenly went mute.

"The boy would crouch in the corner of the memorial hall all day, carving the word 'sister' into the bricks with his nails, as if possessed.

"It wasn't until later, when investigators arrived, that they discovered that Dmitriy had invited a cultivator to activate the Stellar Heir Formation when Mrs. Pennoyer was pregnant with her first child 18 years ago.

"At the heart of the formation were seven lucky coins soaked in realgar wine, said to be burial items from a royal attendant of the previous dynasty. It was believed this would guarantee a son. Instead, Mrs. Pennoyer gave birth to an unwanted daughter named Desiree.

"It was bad luck for Dmitriy, who only wanted sons. To him, daughters were nothing but a financial burden. After that, Mrs. Pennoyer gave birth to three more baby girls, each of whom died before reaching one month old.

"Meanwhile, the willow tree in the Pennoyer family courtyard grew taller and lusher."

Wynter gestured with her chin. "Just like the one in your yard."

The four hadn't noticed the willow tree in the courtyard until Wynter mentioned it. What kind of family would plant such a tree in their yard? It was practically inviting spirits into the house. But they didn't dare voice their thoughts aloud.

Brenda had been smiling all along, her grin unnaturally wide. "I didn't expect such a young cultivator to know stories like this."

"I heard it from a friend," Wynter replied calmly.

Brenda, however, was in high spirits. Sitting gracefully in her chair, she picked up a kitchen knife. "This is just a rural tale. Don't take it too seriously. Though, they do make good drinking stories."

She raised the knife, laughing as she leaned closer to Wynter. "Look at me, so caught up in your story that I've gone off track. Honored cultivator, if you don't start eating soon, I might start to wonder if you already know—"

Her words were cut short by a sudden kick to the door. The door swung open, and a black boot stepped inside. Following it upward, the first thing that caught everyone's attention was a strikingly conspicuous parasol.

It was striking because no one would think to carry a parasol in such an environment.

In an instant, the four sect apprentices' eyes snapped toward the newcomer. Who on earth could be so bold—and so leisurely—as to carry a parasol at a time like this?

But that wasn't the point. The real question was, how had this person gotten here? How had the swarm of grim spirits outside not devoured him already?

As the four of them reeled in shock, the newcomer calmly closed the parasol. His fingers, slender and well-defined, looked as fair and cold as sugilite in the candlelight. Then, he revealed a face that was impossible to forget.

"It's you," Feradach blurted out, stunned. "Aren't you that boy toy who's always by Wynter's side? How did you even find this place?"

He had expected some highly skilled fellow cultivator, but instead, it was a mortal. Did Dalton think he didn't have enough people here and decided to come get himself eaten, too?

Brenda was also eyeing Dalton, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.

Dalton, however, simply lowered the parasol and locked eyes with Wynter, as if no one else existed. "I came looking for you because I was worried about you.

"Coincidentally, it started raining outside, and I saw someone foolishly setting off fireworks. I thought I'd find shelter, but who would've thought I'd run into you? What a fortunate coincidence."

Wynter smiled. To her, his lie was so obvious it was almost laughable.

But some people believed it—like Feradach, who had buried his face in his hands. "Your luck is just terrible!"

"Is it?" Dalton walked over, his profile as noble and handsome as ever, though his demeanor seemed subtly different.

Wynter studied him carefully. "Have you grown taller? And more mature?"

Dalton's fingers paused for a moment before he flatly denied it. "No, I've only been away from you for two hours. How could I have grown taller?"

It was true. No one grew that fast.

Wynter raised her gaze, her eyes lingering on his jawline. No, he had definitely grown taller, and he was looking more and more like the version of him outside the formation.

Brenda, however, didn't care who the newcomer was. If he could enter this place, it meant he had some mastery of the Arcane Way.

"Since you're here, have something to eat. It's raining outside, so you must be cold. Here, have some soup."

As she spoke, Brenda picked up one of the bowls of soup and handed it to Dalton.

The four apprentices' eyes twitched. A mortal would definitely die if they drank this, right?

But before they could react, there was a loud crash—Dalton had thrown the bowl aside. He looked lazily at Brenda, his voice casual and dismissive. "I won't drink that. It's filthy."