The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Inside the restaurant, long dining tables have already been set up.

White candles burned on gleaming silver candlesticks, illuminating the exquisite porcelain and crystal wine glasses, while the pristine white tablecloth remained spotless.

Lady Violet sat at one end of the main seat, while Viscount Edward sat at the other end, being looked after by his Uncle Albert.

On the left are, in order, his uncle, cousin, and younger brother; on the right are George and his sister, with Bates seated to the left of Sybil.

Butler Carson stood at attention not far behind Viscount Edward, with two other male servants standing on either side.

After George and Bates were seated, dinner officially began.

The first stew was rich and delicious, but the restaurant was unusually quiet, with only the occasional soft sound of a spoon hitting the side of a bowl and the faint crackling of firewood burning in the fireplace.

Lady Violet tried to start a conversation by asking Arthur about the current state of his businesses in the New World.

Arthur Thomp responded enthusiastically, describing the opportunities and vitality of the New World.

His voice inevitably sounded somewhat out of place in the empty restaurant.

My younger sister also tried to join in, asking our uncle about the state of painting art in the colony.

However, the atmosphere on the other side of the table was completely different.

Viscount Edward mechanically stirred the soup in his bowl with a spoon, barely drinking any, staring blankly ahead.

Albert asked him a few questions in a low voice, but he just shook his head slightly.

The younger brother, on the other hand, seemed restless and showed little interest in the soup in front of him or the conversation around him.

The main course is roasted lamb ribs with mint sauce, buttered potatoes, and seasonal vegetables.

The male servants skillfully served meals to each guest.

The lamb was roasted to perfection, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, but the atmosphere in the restaurant remained somber.

Butler Carson maintained an impeccably respectful demeanor throughout, as dignified as a statue.

The conversation between the old lady, Sybil, and Arthur seemed somewhat isolated and helpless, unable to truly break the chilly atmosphere that enveloped the restaurant.

Bates ate in silence, his posture upright, his eyes lowered, only occasionally glancing up to quickly scan the restaurant environment and the people around him.

George ate in silence, sensing the undercurrents beneath the surface of this exquisite dinner.

He noticed that his uncle Albert occasionally glanced at his father with worry, and his grandmother would also subtly watch over them from time to time.

His original father, the once energetic and even somewhat obsessive viscount, is now like a soulless shell, left only with decay and an unsettling stillness.

What exactly is hidden beneath the luxury of this manor?

The final dessert seemed to go unnoticed by anyone except Sybil, with the old lady politely asking the housekeeper to convey her gratitude to the cook.

After the meal, the old lady was clearly tired and took her leave first.

Albert also helped Viscount Edward, who was almost unable to stand on his own, out of the restaurant.

Arthur patted George on the shoulder and said, "Get some rest, we'll talk again tomorrow," before leaving with Frederick.

Sybil said goodnight to George and Bates, her eyes filled with worry and a hint of unspoken words, before finally leaving.

The large dining room was soon left with only George and Bates, and Carson, the butler, who was directing the male servants to clear away the dishes.

"Master George, Mr. Bates, your room is ready, and hot water will be delivered shortly. If there are no other requests, please get some rest."

Butler Carson walked up to them, his voice calm and even.

"Thank you, Carson." George stood up, and Bates stood up as well.

The two walked out of the restaurant in silence and headed up the stairs to the third floor. Only the echo of their footsteps reverberated in the corridor.

Back in George's room, Elliott was already waiting inside, and the fireplace fire burned even brighter.

"Young master, Mr. Bates," Elliott greeted in a low voice.

George nodded in acknowledgment, walked to the fireplace, and reached into his pocket to take out what his uncle had stuffed into his own pocket.

It was a note.

"Let me see what brilliant ideas my uncle has."

-----------------

On the other side, in an elegantly decorated small room, the Viscount and the old lady sat facing each other.

At this moment, apart from his pale face, the viscount showed no signs of the weakness he had displayed in front of others.

"There are only five people in this house who know my true identity. Mom, thank you for keeping the secret."

"I hate doing this, Edward, I really do."

The old lady remained dignified, but her amiable expression in the restaurant had vanished, replaced by a rather serious, even stern, demeanor.

The Viscount smiled slightly.

"Oh, the reason I agreed to let him study psychiatry was because I thought it would be easier for him to get through the initial stages than chemistry or natural history, so that he could take over from me, this poor, increasingly frail person."

The old lady interjected:

"I'm sorry, Edward, but Highgarden has already accepted your charter petition, and George can inherit the title smoothly. Can't we just... let things take their natural course?"

The viscount, however, did not respond.

"The current situation is that my health is deteriorating too rapidly. If things proceed as originally planned, George will probably have difficulty resolving the issues with the Anti-Corruption Bureau."

The viscount picked up the cup beside him and took a sip: "To prevent the family from losing its lineage and royal privileges, we have to make some necessary sacrifices."

The old lady's lips were pressed into a thin line, and she gripped her cane tightly in her hand.

"Sacrifice, sacrifice... Whenever you speak in that tone, I want to ring the bell to call the nanny over, and drag you to bed before you're allowed to eat dinner."

The Viscount chuckled. "Then you'd better make sure you have a sturdy enough bed, Mother."

He then softened his tone, speaking in a reciting poetic manner:

"The plan passed down from my grandfather's generation cannot be interrupted in my hands—the mistakes of the past are just setbacks, and what I will do next is..."

"Enough, I don't want to hear it." The old lady shook her head, pressing her hands to her ears. "My decision not to get involved in the family's supernatural affairs was absolutely wise."

"No matter what, the glorious day of the Decaying Lake is coming, Mother, don't let it be destroyed."

A somewhat cold smile appeared on the viscount's face.

"I know you've always been reluctant to get involved in this, but this is our family's greatest wish, and I hope to use a safer approach."

He added with a touch of emotion:

"Judging from his two companions, my dear eldest son is indeed a capable person. He has also managed to recruit a 'Breaker' and has completed his awakening in line with the family's path."

"But the other one..."

The viscount was about to say something more when he suddenly froze as if struck by lightning.

A blinding light emanated from his frozen expression, through his eyes, nostrils, and ears.

The old lady was greatly alarmed and stood up from her chair: "Edward!"

"Ring the bell! Call Thomas!"

The viscount managed to squeeze out a few words and tried to say something, but he had already floated up from the purple flannel chair, eerily suspended in mid-air like a puppet being lifted up.

His skin melted and flowed like wax, with a white light shimmering with an icy blue hue where the epidermis was thin.

Glistening liquid flowed from between the fingers, under the tongue, in the nasal cavity, and even from the earlobes, dripping down and boiling and sublimating in mid-air.

The firelight and candlelight flickered as he struggled in the air, surging through the room like waves.

After the bell was rung, the old lady, leaning against the fireplace frame, looked on with astonishment and fear, her face flickering in the unusually bright light of the room.

"The Rotten Lake! Something's wrong! That slumbering darkness is about to awaken! I absolutely will not..."

The viscount's roar, carrying a chilling fervor, nearly caused the old lady to collapse to the ground.

Just then, the door was suddenly flung open.

A man dressed in black uniform rushed in and threw a large flask at the viscount, who was contorted in mid-air.

With a suppressed cry, the Viscount fell back to the ground, seemingly enduring immense pain, but the light emanating from his body gradually faded.

Only then did the old lady notice that the viscount's clothes had transformed into some kind of dazzling gemstone, shimmering with strange colors.

But when she saw the Viscount bound to the ground by the solidified jeweled robes, unable to move at all, a deep sadness appeared in her eyes.

"Mom, your decision to stay out of supernatural matters was absolutely the wisest thing you could have done."

The viscount's exhausted tone had a self-deprecating quality.

Upon hearing this, the old lady clutched her chest and gave a bitter smile.

"I think so, my dear child, but I'm not happy about it—what mother would be happy about that?"