The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Chapter 104 Conversation in the Art Studio

It was morning, and although the sunlight couldn't shine directly into the studio through the west-facing windows, the diffused morning light was still bright.

The light illuminated the easel, palette, and paint tray in Frederick's hand placed by the window, and the faint scent of turpentine wafted in the air.

The younger brother, dressed in rather shabby casual clothes, sat on a low stool, facing a huge canvas.

The canvas was covered with deep blue and purplish-black paint, and the background was a chaotic starry sky that seemed to be spinning and condensing.

He was using a narrow brush dipped in deep blackish-purple to outline something in the center of the canvas.

Hearing the door open, he didn't turn around, but simply put down his brush and let out a long sigh.

"Fred, how are you feeling?" Albert closed the door, took a few steps closer, and asked gently.

Frederick finally put down his paintbrush and turned around.

His face was still somewhat pale, and beneath the weariness in his eyes lay a deep, unfathomable emotion.

He looked at his uncle, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth: "The feeling? Uncle, that feeling..." I'll never forget it in my life. Emerging from the cocoon and then devouring the galloping horse—

How many people do you think experienced this throughout the entire empire?

Albert maintained his composure, walked to another high-backed chair, and sat down calmly. "Painful memories are always vivid. I mean, now that you've recovered both physically and mentally, do you have any new thoughts about this family?"

Frederick picked up a strip of cloth and casually wiped the paint off his sleeves and hands.

He sat down in the chair opposite his uncle, remained silent for a moment, and then asked, "Uncle, what about you? You've been through pretty much something this time, haven't you? Speaking of which, when did you find out about—those things?"

Albert looked at him and did not shy away from the question.

"It's been a long time. Shortly after your father, my brother, took over the core affairs of the family, he had Carson tell me some things. The family's mission, the price to be paid—"

He calmly explained his position: "He needed someone to help him with ordinary affairs, especially in dealing with external communications, and sometimes he needed to know the truth to get things done. Of course, these matters were handed over to Mr. Randolph after I got married."

"I see." Frederick scoffed, tossing away the rag. "So, Sybil came here just now to find out my 'attitude,' just like back then?"

"Your sister has always cared about you," Albert said calmly.

"Concern, perhaps." Frederick turned back to the canvas, looking at the starry sky he had painted.

"Yes, she's a good sister. But after Mother passed away, she became increasingly—sensitive." I initially thought she was just paranoid, but now it seems she wasn't wrong—"

He suddenly turned to look at Albert, his tone laced with sarcasm: "Everyone in this house, except for our dear fourth Viscount George himself, knows that Father is plotting against George, doesn't he?"

"Whether it's Grandmother, you, Sybil, or maybe even Uncle Arthur, we're all secretly dividing ourselves into factions behind Father and George's backs, calculating how to protect ourselves and how to make the best use of the situation."

He raised his right hand, which was resting on the armrest, and made a gesture by sweeping his index finger across the armrest.

"But what's interesting is that neither the father who's going to sacrifice his son nor the heir who might become a sacrifice cares about where we 'family members' stand."

Frederick's voice was filled with mockery: "This is the gift that supernatural power bestows upon a family—blood ties and emotions become as light as a feather before a higher goal."

Albert remained silent for a long time, and the only sound in the studio was the occasional chirping of birds from outside the window.

After a long silence, he spoke again: "Fred, you and I are both second sons in our families. Even without these extraordinary events, we usually need to find our place in the world. Now the situation is more complicated—what are your plans?"

Frederick did not answer immediately.

He stood up, walked to an old cabinet in another corner of the studio, and opened the cabinet door.

Inside were piles of more painting supplies, rolled-up sketches, and some old books.

His hand swept over a pile of items, finally picking up a gray silver coin.

"As for my plans... Uncle, I'd like to ask you a question first." He turned around and repeated his uncle's words, the silver coin twirling nimbly between his fingers.

"When were you arranged to marry? I mean, when did your father, our grandfather, the second viscount, arrange for you to marry Lady Catherine Howard?"

"A mortal paired with an important member of an extraordinary family. I've heard that you two only see each other about once a year now, treating each other with the utmost respect, but there's absolutely no love between you—"

Frederick's voice held a hopeless indifference: "Are you truly content with a life manipulated by supernatural powers and family obligations?"

Albert looked at the two coins in his hand, one gray and one shiny, shrugged, and gave a bitter smile. "Willingly? Fred, when you were a young man, and your father, the future of the entire family, was on his shoulders, when he told you it was to gain key allies and ensure the family's survival—you had no choice. That's the price of nobility."

He paused, his voice lowering, "Although in the end, due to some royal factors, this marriage did not achieve the effect my father had envisioned, it indirectly prompted him to abandon his original efforts to ascend and pursue higher power breakthroughs, and instead embark on a more stable path of accumulating the family's extraordinary foundation..."

Albert looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing through the studio walls to see into the distant past: "Perhaps it was seeing how your father, Edward, went to such lengths to arrange his children's marriages in order to build worldly power that instilled in him a deep aversion to such practices as 'social interactions' and 'building power.'"

He withdrew his gaze and fell on his younger brother's face: "In the face of power, scheming seems pale and powerless—this is probably one of the reasons that led him to pursue his own power to an extreme—he hoped to solve the family problems once and for all with his own great power, rather than playing these balancing games anymore."

Frederick did not comment immediately.

He rubbed the silver coin between his thumb and forefinger for a while, then spoke in a low voice, "So, that's why you tampered with the letter you sent to Father summoning George back?"

Seeing his uncle's surprised expression, the younger brother added, "Father had no reason to steal Thoth's Tears from me," since I had asked him to prepare the ink. I could only imagine that you, as someone who had been handling the manor's paperwork for some time, would need it.

Albert did not answer immediately; he looked back at Frederick's determined, probing gaze.

After a moment, he nodded slightly.

"A young son must get used to self-control and using others (A young son, you know, must)"

Be inured to yourself—denialand dependence. The middle way prevails, Fred; that's the stance we should take.