The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Chapter 106 In the Mist (2) Hailstorm

[—The amber-like halo makes the night shine like midday. Friend of the steed, radiant Queen of the Night, adorned with starlight—may this sacred light illuminate our ceremony, gladly accept our praise and prayers, and allow all things to flourish in their infancy.]

However, as the prayer was recited and the molten gold poured into the clay mold, it produced a discordant scorched white smoke with the mistletoe placed within it.

A pungent smell of sulfur instantly filled the makeshift alchemy room, forcing George to retreat repeatedly.

Amidst the crackling and popping sounds, a few drops of molten material even splattered out, burning a few small holes in the tabletop.

This is the second failure since he left his study to try and make the "Golden Branch of Heaven".

George stared at the still-smoking mold, his brow furrowed.

He realized that the reason for his recent failure was different from the first misstep, and that it lay in the object of his "begging".

According to the records of the production method, there should have been abundant "crescent moon" power coming from the spirit realm to moderate the power of sulfur and mercury, allowing it to be balanced and contained within the molten gold...

He was just about to open the window for ventilation when there was a rhythmic knocking on the door of the alchemy room.

"George, are you there?" It was Lieutenant Bates' voice.

George had no choice but to open the door first.

Bates stood outside the door, seemingly puzzled by the smell inside.

He covered his nose, raised his chin, and gestured for George to look at the only window in the alchemy room.

"You'd better look outside," the lieutenant said in a low voice.

George turned around and realized that the room had become very dark.

He walked quickly to the window and was surprised to find that the outside was shrouded in a hazy mist—almost a solid fog completely enveloped the third-floor outdoor area.

He seemed so focused on the experiment that he was completely unaware of the changes in the outside environment.

"I just came back from the garden gazebo, and the fog rolled in incredibly fast." Bates walked beside him, his expression grave as he looked outside.

"The fog almost instantly engulfed everything; when I entered, I could barely see anything more than ten meters away."

L

George quickly activated his spirituality.

Beyond the gray mist of the material world, the dream realm of the spirit world was also shrouded in a deep and chaotic shadow.

But strangely, this gloom gives people a strange sense of color, as if the gray and white of the fog has been given a completely different and indescribable color sensation.

And a sense of oppressive doom loomed over him as he looked at the fog. George felt as if he could hear the crackling sound of a radio with a bad signal.

"This is abnormal." George looked away and turned to Bates. "This is not a normal weather phenomenon at all."

"That's what I thought too, so I came to find you right away." Bates nodded. "The others are in the living room; we'd better go there."

""

The two left the alchemy room and went downstairs along the corridor.

George and Bates entered the living room on the first floor without attracting much attention. However, George noticed that Inspector Douglas, who was standing by the fireplace, gestured with his eyes towards the corridor.

He understood and quickly walked over: "Inspector, this fog..."

"I know," Douglas interrupted him.

He pulled George into the corridor, his voice low so only the two of them could hear, "What I want to say is that His Excellency the Viscount has left the manor."

George was startled: "Given the situation outside, where did he go?"

"He only left me a note." The inspector took a folded note from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to George.

George unfolded it, revealing the Viscount's familiar, concise, and powerful handwriting:

*The fog is the stage curtain; face it carefully. —ERD*

"Did he leave any instructions?" George asked.

"Yes." The inspector's gaze became unusually complicated.

"The Viscount instructed that you are now fully responsible for the situation at the manor. He also explicitly told me that unless the situation reaches an extreme point where everyone's lives are at risk, he does not want me to provide assistance beyond the scope of witnessing."

George gripped the note tightly: "But you certainly won't stand idly by."

"Well, I certainly need to respect His Excellency the Viscount's opinion," Douglas coughed lightly, "but to be honest, he didn't mention my granddaughter."

George looked up at the inspector in surprise.

"So, may I ask Miss Moore for help?"

"Think what you want, I don't interfere with my granddaughter's freedom." The inspector shrugged.

Just then, the crisp sound of the dinner bell rang throughout the mansion.

At the other end of the corridor, Mrs. Hughes was leading two maids toward the dining room to set the table.

"Let's eat first." Douglas shrugged. "In this weather, maybe nothing will happen, maybe—"

George nodded, suppressing his thoughts for the moment, and walked towards the dining room with the others who came out of the living room.

The atmosphere at dinner tonight was not pleasant; the thick fog outside the window blurred the line between dusk and night.

The warm yellow light from the candlesticks danced on the silverware, but it failed to dispel the ominous feeling in everyone's hearts.

However, everyone except the Viscount was present, so thankfully nothing unexpected happened.

Suddenly, a series of rapid crackling sounds came clearly from outside the window.

George turned to look out the window—blurry shadows were falling from the sky—hail.

At first, it was just light tapping, but it quickly turned into a barrage of blows.

The hailstones pounded on the snow with a soft thud, but then piled up and made a deeper, more powerful sound.

Everyone instinctively stopped what they were doing and looked out the window.

Through the thick fog, the source of the hail could not be seen; only the violent sound and the occasional blurry white trails stirred up by the wind could be heard.

The sound was so powerful that it silenced everyone at the table.

Only Uncle Arthur muttered a curse under his breath: "God—"

George noticed Miss Moore seemed lost in thought, and Bates narrowed his eyes, as if listening to whether there was another meaning behind this natural atrocity.

The roar of violent hail accompanied everyone until dinner ended in a tense atmosphere.

Everyone hurriedly left the restaurant and went their separate ways.

After giving vague answers to the old lady and his uncle's questions, George was about to go find Butler Carson when he saw the old butler already appearing in the corridor.

"Young Master George," Carson approached quickly, his voice trembling with barely concealed unease, "I have something urgent to report to you."

George gestured for him to talk as they walked.

"When the fog rolled in, I was quite worried and thought of sending someone to the Night Watchman's Hut to let them know," Carson said, his voice trembling.

"Old Man Mo and the watchmen on duty today would have a hard time performing their guard duties in such extreme circumstances. Sending someone else would also remind them to be careful."

George's heart sank: "And then?"

"I sent a reliable male servant, and he left a long time ago." Carson's brows furrowed.

"According to the route, it would only take half an hour to walk back quickly. With such thick fog, he might get lost. Before he left, I specifically told him that if he felt anything was wrong on the way, or if he couldn't reach the Night Watchman's Hut, he should turn back immediately."

"Is he back?"

Carson slowly shook his head, looking dejected.

"No. I sent someone to wait for him at the side gate, but it's been foggy for over an hour, and there's still no news. Now this vicious hailstorm has started—"