The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1892

The ordinary chairs seemed to transform into the Netherthrone. Dalton didn't even need to speak. He was just resting his chin lazily on one hand when countless wraiths surged forth from behind him, tearing his enemy apart on his behalf.

And every single one of them was stronger than the malevolent spirit, capable of devouring him in just a bite or two.

The malevolent spirit clutched his own arm, his vision blurred by bloody tears, desperate to beg for mercy. But he knew Dalton had never shown an ounce of compassion.

Aside from his arm, the left half of his body had already melted into dark water.

Just as he thought he was done for, a calm, clear voice sounded from upstairs. "Dalton, don't kill him. I still have questions to ask."

It was Wynter, the one holding the Soul Commanding Badge.

The malevolent spirit couldn't make sense of the relationship between these two, but in the very next second, the most horrifying visions before his eyes dissipated completely. He finally had a chance to catch his breath.

And Dalton now seemed like nothing more than a harmless pretty boy who only knew how to drink tea. Aside from his strikingly handsome face, he appeared utterly useless, even sickly, exuding an air of delicacy.

But the spirit knew it was just a facade, having already been fooled by it. Who would've thought that the legendary Spirit King, while walking among mortals, would wear such an unassuming skin?

The malevolent spirit was now too terrified to even move. He didn't dare show the slightest disrespect, only kneeling there, trembling, without the courage to even glance at Dalton.

The other malevolent spirit, still bound by Wynter's Spirit Token, had no idea what had happened. Frowning, he couldn't comprehend why his companion had been reduced to such a state.

The three cultivators standing nearby were even more baffled by the scene. They didn't know what that puddle on the floor was. They could tell it was a malevolent spirit, but they had never seen one in such a pitiful state.

And given the spirit's level of cultivation, he should've been close to becoming a wraithlord.

The three exchanged glances but remained silent, having learned their lesson upstairs. After all, the sight of the malevolent spirit groveling before Wynter had left an indelible impression on them. Until they understood the situation, they decided it was best to keep their mouths shut.

Wynter walked downstairs without pause, dragging the malevolent spirit up by his collar. "You get one chance. Where did you take the little girl's soul?"

The malevolent spirit glanced at her, then at Dalton, who lazily lifted an eyelid in his direction.

Terrified, the spirit stammered, "I-I'll talk! We only lure souls in—taking lives isn't something we can do! The girl's living soul was taken by an underworld guard as soon as she left her body. As for where she was taken, we truly don't know."

In response, Wynter slammed his face straight into the floor. The other malevolent spirit, still bound by the red thread, winced at the impact.

"Do you think I'm easy to fool? Or do you think he is?" She jerked her chin toward Dalton. How would the spirit dare lie to Dalton?

"Cultivator, I swear it's the truth! The underworld guard really took her!" The malevolent spirit's desperation seemed genuine.

But the other one, the foreigner, flinched, his eyes flickering uneasily.

Wynter's gaze sharpened on him. She didn't waste more words on them. Keeping these two alive served another purpose. As for the soul summoning, they weren't entirely wrong. If a soul was lost, the underworld had an obligation to return it.

Wynter raised her hand and traced a few strokes in the air. Those few lines alone were enough to make the three cultivators gasp.

That was a Divine Talisman. It was a technique that channeled one's own spiritual energy to draw unique sigils, harnessing the power of heaven and earth to amplify one's abilities. In ancient times, such talismans were used for blessings, protection, summoning rain, or dispelling disasters.

But not every cultivator could wield them. Even those who managed to draw them often failed to invoke their true power because this relied entirely on innate talent. And if one carelessly drew a cursed talisman, it could even bring misfortune upon those nearby.

Over time, the art had been lost to history.

They never expected to see someone who could still do it, but what left them utterly speechless was what she did after drawing the talisman.

Wynter faced the empty air and uttered, "Grim and Vesper, appear at once."

Her tone was icy cold, nothing like a proper summoning. This was completely unlike anything the three cultivators had ever been taught.

Normally, when they needed to borrow a path to the underworld or inquire about something, they had to set up a formation and an altar, respectfully calling out "Honorable Underworld Guards" to summon them.

And even then, they weren't summoning Grim and Vesper, just ordinary underworld guards!

Yet now, did Wynter think that with just a single casual command, Grim and Vesper would appear? This was utterly absurd!

However, they actually appeared.

The three cultivators watched as the previously empty hallway suddenly filled with thick mist. Two tall figures strode—no, floated—forward, their feet unseen. One wore a long black robe, while the other was clad in white, each topped with a tall hat.

The white hat bore the words "Wealth in Life", while the black read "Distinct Good and Evil". Both had deathly pale faces. Though strikingly handsome, their eerie energy made one want to flee.

In their hands were icy soul-locking chains, each link radiating formidable power. Whether unborn souls, malevolent spirits, or the three cultivators present, all recognized those chains. They were used to seize souls and claim lives.

Typically, after a spirit left its body, underworld guards would escort it to the underworld. Those chains were no ordinary objects.

The two malevolent spirits shrank back instinctively at the sight.

But as soon as Grim and Vesper saw that it was Wynter and Dalton who had summoned them, they instantly changed their appearance.

In the blink of an eye, they transformed into two sharply dressed office workers, still in black and white suits, their tools now replaced with laptops and tablets—the latest models.

"Ms. Quinnell, Mr. Yarwood, long time no see."

Their attitude was so polite that it seemed less like a visit from the underworld and more like civil servants delivering a report.

The three cultivators' expressions twisted in disbelief. Back when they summoned underworld guards, they had to be reverent and offer tributes even for simple inquiries, and even then, the guards might refuse.

Never had they seen anything like this. If not for Grim and Vesper's unmistakable presence, they'd have suspected they were imposters.

Since when did the underworld start using tablets? But after a moment, they realized that wasn't just any tablet—that was the Ledger of Souls.

The three cultivators stared, dumbfounded. Wasn't it said that Grim and Vesper kept their Ledger of Souls deeply hidden, never to be seen by outsiders? What in the world was happening here?

What they couldn't possibly know was that Grim and Vesper had developed something akin to trauma from past encounters.