The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1813

In an instant, a fierce gale of overwhelming surge of spirit energy swept through Granville Village.

These were the cries of the most tragic and desperate resistance from women who had once been helpless and voiceless. Among them were those who had endured endless humiliation, treated as mere nourishment from birth, and, simply because they were women, had never had a chance to rise in life.

Never before had a cultivator stood up for these so-called malevolent spirits, and Wynter was the first in the sects to do so. Mt. Nyxvarn was destined to make a name for itself this time, and no amount of concealment would work now.

Julio, who had been fearless just moments ago, was now kneeling on the ground, begging for mercy. The grim spirits, who had once been villagers, scattered in all directions. The retribution that Mt. Nyxvarn had borne for others was now being repaid.

Julio had thought no cultivator would dare touch them because they carried the fortune bestowed by the heavens. But Wynter had somehow rallied those he had once crushed like ants.

Women were supposed to be sold for profit and married off early! Shouldn't they think of the community? They were the ones who refused to rely on men! They couldn't blame him for forcing them to conform to the rules of the past!

Julio still believed he was in the right, that these women should have known their place. But now, Wynter had turned his world upside down. He glared at Wynter, wanting to swallow her blood and flesh.

As he was about to be cleansed, Julio suddenly opened his gaping, black hole of a mouth and cursed her.

But for some reason, Dalton, who had earlier said he wouldn't intervene, glanced in his direction. In his eyes, Julio saw a murderous intent he had never witnessed before.

In the blink of an eye, he felt as if he had been burned from the inside out, completely reduced to ashes. The curse he was uttering was never completed.

A piercing scream echoed through the village as the once-ferocious Julio was obliterated, vanishing without a trace.

Dalton calmly lowered his hand, and the spirit flames extinguished, as if nothing had happened. No one had seen him act. His expression remained indifferent as he continued walking forward.

The night was thick as ink, and the grim spirits roamed freely under the cover of darkness. Dalton moved through them with an innate, icy presence, his youthful face appearing especially stern under the moonlight.

The grim spirits that had narrowly escaped were now trembling in fear, hiding in the shadows, not daring to make a sound. Heaven was furious, and hence, everything would be sacrificed.

Wynter wasn't unaffected by the curse. But the moment she was enveloped in darkness, she felt a hand reach out from behind and grasp hers. The hand was slender and clean, with well-proportioned joints and long fingers, its touch cool yet comforting.

Wynter didn't need to look back to know who it was. A smile graced her lips.

Dalton had said he wouldn't interfere, but he still feared she might be in danger. This habit of saying one thing and doing another seemed to be something he had carried over from his past life.

With someone standing behind her, backing her up, Wynter felt even more motivated. She had never cared much for what others called the "Primordial Arcane".

Wynter believed that one was delusional if they believed they could simply wipe the slate clean after death, continuing to harm others without remorse after committing crimes in life.

She didn't give those people a chance. With a single motion, she uprooted the ancient willow tree that had stood for so many years.

The Soul-Returning Herb grew nearby, but as long as the willow tree stood, no one could harvest it. Any cultivator who approached it would be instantly swarmed by grim spirits, their souls devoured. In this way, most cultivators became nourishment for the willow tree.

The sacred statue seemed to have some connection to the tree. The moment the willow tree fell, the statue's ancient eyes shifted.

It glanced at Logan, who was within its grasp, then at Wynter, who remained cold and composed.

Its eyes were venomous, as if trying to etch Wynter's image into its mind. It had spent a century planning this grand formation, only for her to destroy it in an instant! How dare a disciple from a declining sect like Mt. Nyxvarn stand in its way?

Did she really think she could escape unnoticed by using the malevolent spirits' power? The sects would never forgive her. And Dalton—he was hiding secrets, too.

But it figured it didn't matter. Once they returned to the sects to report, their doom would be sealed. A moment of glory was easy to achieve, but what lay behind that glory?

Mt. Nyxvarn would have to explain itself. An entire village's lingering souls, even if they had grievances, would leave behind karmic ties. She would never achieve ascension to the Sacred path.

It had planned to spare Mt. Nyxvarn for a while longer, but with Wynter, who had a demonic manifestation emerging, it was impossible for them not to have an explanation for the other sects.

As the sacred statue thought this, it prepared to withdraw its consciousness. But what it didn't expect was that Wynter would dare to stop it.

The willow tree was indeed connected to the sacred statue, but it could easily detach itself. Trying to trap it was nothing but a pipe dream. Without its true form present, no spell would work.

The sacred statue shattered in mid-air. The ancient willow tree withered rapidly, turning into a pool of black water.

Visible to the naked eye, a dark mist began to swirl around Wynter, clinging to her spiritual form. This was the retribution that cultivators could never avoid. Wynter, however, didn't seem to care. After all, this wasn't the first time for her.

Dalton glanced at her, as if he couldn't bear to see her spiritual form be tainted by that dark mess. He was meant to be an existence detached from the world, yet here he was, interfering in matters he had no business with.

Dalton, however, paid them no mind. Still, they couldn't shake the feeling that after this night, his energy had grown so powerful it was almost intimidating. They couldn't even meet his gaze.

Feradach, in particular, was conflicted. By all accounts, he should inform his good friend—Michan—about what had happened. After all, he had enjoyed countless grilled fish at Mt. Nyxvarn and had promised to look after Wynter at the Arcane Way Forum.

Who would have thought that he would be the one saved in the end? And then there was the matter of this boy toy... How was he supposed to explain this?

Before he could dwell on it further, the chaotic formation in Granville Village dissipated, and the surrounding magnetic field shifted. The ordinary mortals who had long suffered from its effects no longer had to take detours to avoid the area, and the mysterious disappearances ceased.

This was something the sects needed to address.

Moreover, this place was rich with golden encounters. Occasionally, sages from the sects would visit, but those with any cultivation sense would avoid Granville, especially when they encountered a bride carrying a basket.

They knew all too well that such a formation could cost them their lives, and even then, there was no guarantee of any golden encounters. It was a losing proposition, and they weren't willing to take the risk.

No one had expected Wynter to break such a formation. Their first thought was that Carlton had intervened.

The sects could sense when a land's fortunes changed. However, the specifics of what had happened in Granville Village couldn't be seen through the mystic mirrors due to the formation's interference.

All they could see was a group of disciples who had unfortunately stumbled into the formation, and among them, Carlton stood out the most.

Thus, elders from various sects turned their gazes toward Mt. Lunther, their eyes filled with both envy and astonishment. "I never expected Carlton to break Granville Village's formation without losing even a shred of his cultivation.

"I heard from his sage that he has a rare cultivation root, but I didn't believe it until now. I truly am getting old. I couldn't have dismantled that formation and even nearly died at that bride's hands the last time I accidentally wandered into it.

"The entire town's villagers had turned into grim spirits. Even now, the thought of it terrifies me," said a senior solo cultivator.

Though he was a solo cultivator, he was highly respected within the community due to his extensive experience in dismantling formations and subduing malevolent spirits. So, his words carried weight.

"But it's strange. Why hasn't Mt. Lunther's fortune increased?" another elder wondered.

In fact, not only had Mt. Lunther's fortune not risen, but its spiritual emblem had also inexplicably shattered. The entire situation was shrouded in mystery.