The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

George's heart skipped a beat.

But he immediately controlled his expression, only "normally" revealing the shock and slight panic of being exposed.

Seeing his reaction, Viscount Edward's eyes shone even brighter, and intense emotions surged within them.

He closed his eyes, as if gathering his strength, and when he spoke again, his words were much more coherent and clear:

"The titles of the Delaporte family were not earned through loyalty and military exploits. My grandfather, the first Viscount of the Lake of Decay, provided the kingdom with vital alchemical supplies during the Napoleonic Wars..."

"This is the foundation upon which we stand, and the reason why Viscount Rotten Lake enjoys the king's charter... Alchemy and the extraordinary, the Delapor family has walked this path for generations..."

He stared intently at George: "I, and everything you will eventually inherit, all stem from this. I'm gratified to see you've crossed that threshold..."

Another violent cough interrupted him. The old lady took half a step forward with concern, but he stopped her with a look.

He composed himself, his voice carrying an urgency:

"The Decaying Lake is being corrupted by a dark force. The blood is just the beginning. I must ensure you have sufficient power... I will personally arrange and guide you on how to proceed..."

The words stopped abruptly, as if the strength had finally been exhausted.

Fine golden light seeped from the Viscount's forehead, and George felt as if the Viscount was being steamed in a sauna, becoming increasingly hot.

"That's enough, Edward, you need to rest!"

The old lady could no longer hold back and stepped forward to wipe the sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief, her tone resolute and leaving no room for argument.

The viscount simply closed his eyes wearily.

The old lady turned to George, her tone softening somewhat:

"George, you go to the study first. Albert and Arthur are still waiting. I'll wait here for the servants to take over."

George nodded obediently: "Yes, Grandmother."

He took one last look at his cheap father's pale, wax-like profile on the bed, then turned and left the room.

After closing the heavy wooden door, George stood on the soft carpet in the corridor, a moment of hesitation passing through his mind—should he go closer to the door and listen to what was happening inside?

But in the end, he restrained the impulse, straightened his collar, and walked toward the study.

Just after George turned and left through the door, the viscount, who should have been weak and exhausted, opened his eyes.

Although her skin was still bloodless, her faint, almost imperceptible breath seemed to be blown away like dust, and her inner spirit shone brightly.

The viscount turned his gaze to his mother by the bedside, and his voice returned to its steady tone.

He believed it to some extent.

Old Lady Violet remained composed, but sighed deeply: "Edward, what if the Anti-Corruption Bureau finds out..."

"The Anti-Suppression Bureau? What's so scary about that?" The Viscount's lips curled into a faint smile. "They only care about the kingdom's 'stability'; trivial matters are irrelevant."

He turned his head slightly to look at the window, which was blocked by heavy curtains.

"I'm not in a position to personally quell the simmering darkness at the bottom of the lake. Its awakening is faster than expected, perhaps spurred by George's return. How annoying..."

He paused, his voice lowering, "I need time, I need to use more radical methods to recover my strength, but that will inevitably burn me out even faster, so letting George handle these 'disasters' is the best option."

"Now that he has crossed the threshold, he will not refuse to consolidate and improve. It's just... he must control the pace."

The room remained silent for a long time. In the end, the old lady simply shook her head wearily and said nothing more.

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

When George returned to the study, the atmosphere was slightly different from when he had left.

My uncle was still sitting at his desk, flipping through those geological maps, his brow furrowed.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Bates were having a pleasant conversation.

Arthur's booming voice revealed his delighted interest.

"...So, those jungle tribes really use blowguns? Good heavens, I've only ever seen tribal spears and crude firearms in the Rocky Mountains."

Bates remained upright, but his expression was slightly more relaxed than usual. He nodded.

"Indeed, sir. Blowguns are silent deep in the forest, and they are very effective against alert prey. However, their arrowheads are usually coated with some kind of poisonous tree sap."

Upon seeing George enter, the two paused their conversation briefly.

His uncle looked up at him, and Arthur, the cousin, asked directly, "George, how are you? Is Edward alright?"

George walked over to the sofa and sat down, his face grave.

"My father looked very weak. He exhausted himself after saying only a few words and then fell asleep again. Resting should be good for him."

He omitted his father's words about the extraordinary and alchemy, and only talked about his physical condition.

My uncle's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly, and he muttered, "I hope he can pull through."

He then waved his hand, as if to brush away the unpleasant topic, and turned to Bates.

"We were just talking about our experiences on the northwestern border of Bharata. Mr. Bates, did you serve there back then?"

Bates nodded slightly: "I stayed there for a while, mainly in the Punjab region."

His gaze met George's briefly, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

George felt somewhat relieved. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke:

"Uncle, since Father needs to rest and the water problem has been temporarily resolved, I'd like to take Mr. Bates to the island for a walk while it's still early. He hasn't had a proper look at the scenery of the Dead Lake before."

Albert replied gently, "Go ahead, it'll be good for you to relax, just be careful."

Uncle Arthur waved his hand and said, "Of course, young people should be more active. My cousin Albert and I will study this geological map some more."

George and Bates rose to say goodbye and left the study.

The manor's courtyard was unusually quiet, with only the rustling of the wind through the bare branches and the faint sound of waves lapping against the shore in the distance.

There were no servants on the gravel path; they had probably all been summoned elsewhere to work because of the morning's chaos.

The two walked along the path, seemingly casually, toward the edge of the island. Only when they were sure the surroundings were spacious enough that no one was eavesdropping did George slow down.

"Did you find anything?" George asked in a low voice.

Bates's eyes swept warily around the room, his voice equally low:

"The blood was strange. I tried bringing it close to a few beetles in the flowerbed, and they showed obvious avoidance and even became agitated."

He took out the small dagger that had been dipped in blood from the inside pocket of his coat; a faint, almost imperceptible dark red mark remained on the tip of the blade.

George took the dagger, examined it carefully, and then handed it back to Bates.

His expression turned serious, and it was unclear what he was thinking.

The two continued walking in silence and soon arrived at the edge of the island.

The sight before them made them stop in their tracks.

The lake water, which was originally grayish-green, turned a chilling dark red in a large area near the shore of Paradise Island.

The red color varies in intensity, with darker areas resembling brownish-red and lighter areas resembling diluted blood.

In the dim afternoon light, it reflected a greasy, stale sheen, like leftover stale wine.

The indescribable smell in the air became even more pronounced.

George took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, carefully squatted down, avoiding the wet mud, and dipped one corner of the handkerchief into the red water on the bank.

The handkerchief was quickly stained with a small, irregular, dark red wet patch.

He stared at the stain, focused his mind, and sank his thoughts deep into his mind.

Since his promotion, he seems to have gained more control over the card table, and he can now find the information in his mind without having to wait to enter a dream.

As George had predicted, two new cards appeared on the card table.