The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1862

Indeed, on this day in mid-April, living souls were often summoned, but most were lured in as replacements for the dead.

Yet, none were quite like him. His wrist was wrapped in a Spirit Token as he boldly strode into Ghoulton. Such a flamboyant living soul was truly rare.

The surrounding spirits exchanged glances. Who would summon such a living soul to the underworld, and for what purpose?

Unlike the malevolent spirits on the bus earlier, who sought only to harm, these spirits were here for Ghoulton's festivities. They were seeking fun, not victims. Fortunately, they were also smarter than the batch earlier.

Even the dullest among them could tell a living soul who acted like this was no ordinary presence. So, none dared step forward to challenge Dalton outright. They waited, watching for any signs of weakness.

As it turned out, their hesitation was wise. With every step Dalton took, the cobblestones beneath him groaned. Even the Ghoulton signs swayed precariously, threatening to crash down. They stood no chance against him.

The spirit wardens arrived swiftly, encircling both the spirit vehicle and Dalton. His profile was coldly striking, and his demeanor remained unchanged. No matter who stood before him, his questions remained the same.

With such a commotion, there was no way Clifton wouldn't have noticed.

He glanced at the mist-choked river of erased memories, then at the messenger before him. "A living soul, causing chaos in Ghoulton? Are you sure?"

The reporting ghost nodded frantically. "The spirit vehicle that went missing from the underworld is there, too."

Clifton paced, the skeletal specter at his waist rising as if in anger. He shot another look at Morna, still deep in her ritual, and lowered his voice. "One problem after another. Ms. Quinnell still hasn't sensed the Lord's presence. Could he be aware that Wynter is summoning souls?"

He recalled what Wynter had once said that someone in the underworld didn't want the truth about Mt. Nyxvarn to be uncovered. And now, with the Sacrificial Human Formation appearing in the mortal realm…

"Secure the area. Don't let anyone near."

Clifton turned to leave, but Morna blocked his path. "Leave the outside world be for now. Time is running out. We can't let her continue like this. Come with me to the river's center. We must bring her ashore."

Clifton hesitated. "Do you really think Ms. Quinnell will listen to us? She won't stop until she finds who she's looking for."

"And I won't stand by while she's devoured by tens of thousands of vengeful spirits!" Morna clenched her fists. "You know better than I do what lurks in that river. They are the most irredeemable wraiths in existence, ancient and undying, festering with resentment.

"It would be fine if she succeeds in summoning the soul. But if she fails, those spirits will drag her under when the time comes!"

Morna had never cared for anyone. Centuries of repetition had numbed her to most things. Yet this time, Wynter's presence made her feel almost human again. She couldn't just watch her perish in the river.

Clifton shook his head. "If Ms. Quinnell is truly pulled beneath the waves, then it's her fate. Those unborn souls in the River of Forgetfulness exist beyond the Realms of Reincarnation. Neither you nor I have the power to face them. Going now would be suicide..."

Just then, the mist over the River of Forgetfulness suddenly parted. The river, usually fathomless and eerily still, began to churn. At its center, the small boat trembled.

Wynter's wrist bore the red thread, its other end still submerged. And because of this, spirit energy crept up its length.

Such was the nature of summoning souls. The saying was that summoning spirits was easy, whereas sending them back was the hard part.

No one could guarantee that the one they summoned would be the person they wanted to see and not something else entirely.

Wynter was powerful, and hence, ordinary tricks wouldn't work on her. The evil spirits lurking beneath the river knew this, too. So, they waited, biding their time. Now, the moment had arrived. The river was at its peak in purging souls, leaving her spiritual power at its weakest.

If she refused to leave when she should have, then she couldn't blame them for devouring her soul.

Phantom spirits clung to the underside of the boat, and illusions were their specialty. The malevolent ghosts who had survived in the river for millennia were no simple foes. Gathered here were the most wicked souls in existence, and when they set their minds to something, they never failed.

From the moment they sensed Wynter's unique presence, they knew to wear her down slowly. She wouldn't leave until she found the soul she sought. And they, in turn, had prepared their own lure.

Datura flowers bloomed in endless scarlet, never withering. Now, stirred by the wind, their petals scattered across the river's surface like a lullaby, capable of weaving dreams or ensuring an eternal slumber.

It was in this state that Wynter sat in the boat, her eyes slowly closing.

Morna noticed the shift and cried out, "My lady!"

Clifton was frantic as well, but he still didn't know what was happening in Ghoulton.

The underworld was in chaos, teetering on the brink of ruin.

The living above only saw ominous signs in the sky, sensing something terrible was coming. But they didn't realize that if the underworld fell into disorder, the Realms of Reincarnation would follow. Malevolent spirits, once restrained, would break free and rise to the surface.

And now, someone had tampered with the underworld's barriers, tearing a rift in the wards.

The Sacrificial Human Formation had disrupted the Realms of Reincarnation. Those who died before their time, escaping judgment, would leave behind unresolved resentful energy. Meanwhile, the fury of innocent souls turned killers would breed demons that would soon walk the earth.

For years, the underworld guards had stood watch, but some threats were beyond their control.

This year, a large number of spirits had planned to use Ghoulton as an opportunity to escape, but Dalton's sudden appearance blocked their path. A few managed to slip away, but most remained trapped in the city center.

At first, every spirit had been eager to taste the essence of a living soul like his. Now, they couldn't scramble far enough from him.

Yet, Dalton wouldn't let them leave. He interrogated each evil spirit with the same question. "Have you seen this Spirit Token before?"

The spirits shook their heads, their faces deathly pale.

The underworld guards, who had initially surrounded Dalton, now hesitated to approach. After all, they sensed the energy of a Spirit King emanating from him.

Never in the history of Ghoulton had such a scene unfolded. Dalton had sealed every exit, so every spirit who had come to the market would remain until he found the one he sought.

"But he's clearly a living soul. If he's searching for whoever summoned him, shouldn't he be looking in the mortal realm?"

Another guard muttered under his breath to his companion, "What is happening?"

"Maybe he can't return," whispered a paler guard, stepping back cautiously. "His situation... It's like he's from..."

"From where?"

"Another world."

"Nonsense. Since when does anyone summon souls in the underworld, no matter which world they're from?"

Shaking his head, the doctor said, "It's still very weak. At this stage, recovery depends entirely on the patient's willpower. If he overcomes this, he'll survive."

"What are his chances of waking up?" Theo asked solemnly.

"There's no way to know. It's up to him now." With that, the doctor left to tend to other patients.

Theo's face darkened at that answer. Silent tears streaked down his weathered cheeks as Keane watched helplessly. Right now, there was nothing he could do but stay by Dalton's side.

Soon, Kaspar arrived.

Wynter had instructed Keane to summon Kaspar for spiritual protection—a testament to her absolute trust in him. But even Kaspar paused at the doorway, taking in the scene with confusion.

Keane quickly briefed him, explaining everything from Wynter's arrival at the hospital to her descent below.

Kaspar nodded solemnly before approaching Theo. "Theo."

Theo hastily wiped his eyes. When he turned around and saw that it was Kaspar, he immediately rose to his feet. As he walked over, his knees were already beginning to bend.

Kaspar caught him by his arms firmly. "Theo, don't. I don't deserve such deference."

Theo started begging, "Mr. Stavius, please save my grandson. He's hanging by a thread. I don't know what else to do."

Kaspar sighed and shook his head helplessly. "Life and death follow the Realm of Reincarnation. No one can oppose it. But I've divined Dalton's fate. His time hasn't come, so he will survive this."

Theo's expression brightened. "Really?"

"Yes." Kaspar's gaze drifted to Wynter. "But whether he emerges safely depends on her."

Some truths couldn't be spoken aloud. Yet, Jensen understood Kaspar's words—if Wynter returned unharmed, so would Dalton.

Leaning toward Keane, Jensen murmured, "Take Mr. Yarwood Senior to rest. Mr. Stavius and I will watch over them."

Keane nodded, approaching Theo. "Mr. Yarwood Senior, you should lie down. You can't afford to collapse."

Theo instinctively refused, unwilling to leave Dalton's side, until Kaspar added, "Theo, rest. You're not young anymore. If Dalton wakes to find you ill, it will only bring more sorrow. I'll look after them, so rest assured."

Only then did Theo nod silently. Reluctantly, Theo allowed Keane to guide him to the adjacent lounge.

Now, alone with Jensen, Kaspar examined Dalton. Kaspar could tell that the faint heartbeat meant that a lingering soul fragment still clung to his body. Without it, he'd have been gone already.

Standing between the two beds, Kaspar shook his head. "How stubborn both of you are."

With that, Kaspar took out a few artifacts, arranging them around Dalton's bedside. Chanting under his breath, he watched as a soft glow emanated from the artifacts, seeping into Dalton's still form.

No matter what, they must return safely.