The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1898

Walton gritted his teeth, his face turning ashen. A stillborn infant was already a vessel of great resentment, and his emotional turmoil was bound to affect the other malevolent spirits.

But this time, the spirits he had nurtured faced backlash. Take Bret, who was in the main hall, for example. When entangled in resentful energy, it revealed nothing but ferocity.

Those spirits buried in the Maynerd family's ancestral plot, attempting to suppress the Maynerds, couldn't gain a foothold, let alone receive any offerings in the underworld without a Maynerd descendant's energy.

The Maynerd ancestors, suppressed for so many years, would never give them a way out. A family of merit would never tolerate such trampling.

The mastermind who set this scheme had too much confidence in his plan, or perhaps he simply couldn't believe anyone would see through his intricate plot. After all, most people wouldn't think to connect it to an insignificant event from the past.

Wynter gazed at the dissipating fog outside, well aware of the underworld's rules. Some malevolent spirits didn't require her intervention. She knew the Maynerds would handle them themselves.

Those inside the hall felt a sudden gust of wind, strong enough to rattle the windows.

Then, with the echo of an aged voice, everything settled into silence. The voice said, "The Maynerd family's descendants will never forget your great kindness."

To Driscoll, the voice was all too familiar—it belonged to his late grandfather. Malevolent spirits entering a home brought chaos, and he had refused to move on for years, worried these spirits would disrupt the Maynerd family.

He couldn't bear to imagine the family's merit and offerings being stolen by outsiders. Not only that, but these spirits had suppressed the Maynerds in the underworld for too long.

Driscoll's grandfather was a man of the battlefield, fierce and unyielding. He hadn't surrendered in life, and he certainly wouldn't in death.

Grudges were repaid with grudges, and vengeance with vengeance. In an instant, all the lingering souls hidden in every corner of the Maynerd estate were dragged into the abyss.

The lights in the hall flickered briefly before returning to normal.

The three cultivators looked at Wynter, utterly convinced of her prowess.

Meanwhile, Walton's face was deathly pale. His earlier actions had drained him of all his spirit energy, yet he didn't seem to regret it at all.

Wynter knew that he had chosen a path of self-destruction. Only by willingly abandoning the Maynerd family's protective merit could those malevolent spirits be consumed by their own resentful energy.

Walton blinked, trembling from the pain wracking his soul.

By all logic, Wynter shouldn't have intervened. But she still took his hand, her fingertips swirling with dark mist. "Your parents will only suffer more if you destroy yourself."

"I-If I don't disappear, Jules can't come back." His eyes widened in confusion. He couldn't understand why his resentful energy had lessened. However, there was only one thing he cared about now. "Dawn's coming. I have to make space so she can return."

His words came fast, blood staining the corner of his lips.

Wynter lowered her gaze. "That's how it was supposed to be. But things have changed. She was the one who brought you into this home. It's your turn to call her back now."

Walton didn't understand, his eyes flickering with doubt.

With a flick of her wrist, Wynter sent a Spirit Token flying. Countless red threads unfurled midair, stretching taut like guiding paths. Copper coins dangled from them, trembling with unseen force.

"Call for her," Wynter said simply.

As a malevolent spirit, Walton recognized this. He knew this was a summoning between kin.

No lost soul had ever called back a living one before. Yet, there they were—red threads blazing a luminous trail across the Path of the Dead.

Walton didn't hesitate. His pale lips parted, and one word, laced with ghostly energy, traveled down the threads. "Jules."

The voice was eerie, but on the Path of the Dead, it was unmistakable.

Soon, one of the coins began to tremble violently.

In the thick mist, a little girl who had been wandering the streets stumbled before getting up again. The darkness was overwhelming, and she couldn't find her way.

Then, light flickered beneath her feet, and she heard Walton's voice.

"Walton? Is that you?" Instantly, she ran toward the sound.

Back in the hall, the coins shook uncontrollably.

Then, people started noticing that, in Celestine's arms, color flooded Jules' cheeks. Though still unconscious, she let out a faint whimper. Jules' soul had returned.

"Jules! Jules!" Celestine sobbed with relief.

Walton watched, overjoyed. He reached out instinctively, just like when Jules used to play with him, but yanked his hand back at the last moment. No newly returned soul could withstand a spirit's touch. The only way for Jules to recover was for him to leave.

Wynter noticed his hesitation. She arched a brow, her voice calm. "You may not be siblings in this life, but that doesn't mean you can't be in the next."

"The next life?" Walton's head snapped up.

Wynter crouched as she chuckled softly. She lowered her voice and whispered to him, "Your parents are destined for one more child. If you leave with the underworld guards now, you can be reborn into the Maynerd family. But remember, the Maynerd legacy was never meant for sons alone."

"Give it all to Jules!" Walton might have been young, but death had sharpened his understanding. As a stillborn, he shouldn't have been eligible for reincarnation, but he knew clearly how his resentful energy had been dissolved.

He stood silent for a moment, then straightened with solemn dignity and bowed deeply to Wynter.

As he did, the three cultivators saw a radiant surge of merit flowing into Wynter. They had always believed that wraithlords brought only calamity, that no malevolent spirit could ever feel gratitude toward a cultivator.

Now, they knew better. True mastery in Arcane Way wasn't in vanquishing spirits, but in redeeming them.

The Maynerd couple saw Walton's gesture and stepped forward—one holding Jules, the other reaching for Walton's hand. Together, they bowed deeply to Wynter once more.

An ordinary person wouldn't have been able to withstand the weight of the Maynerds' gratitude, but Wynter had never been ordinary.

Perhaps sensing Walton's departure, Jules stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Her small hand stretched toward Walton.

This time, it was Walton who chose to be bound. The soul-locking chains coiled around him as Grim and Vesper prepared to lead him to his reincarnation.

"Walton," Jules called weakly.

Walton turned, his smile bright despite the chains. "Wait for me, Jules. I'll be back soon."

As the last word left his lips, the first light of dawn painted the sky in pale hues.

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