The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Strangely, George did not look back along the way and returned to the mansion without any further incidents.

He returned to the alchemy room and lay back on the large, soft chaise lounge.

As he "entered" his own body, his perspective returned to normal.

Viscount Edward remained standing to the side, his unusually bright eyes fixed on him.

George felt a real physical sensation, a strong sense of fatigue, and a slight dizziness, as if he had just engaged in strenuous exercise.

He took a deep breath, struggled to sit up from the recliner, and was surprised to find the lake water he had collected in the glass bottle in his hand.

He quickly handed over the glass bottle he was clutching tightly: "The sample is back."

The Viscount took the bottle, examined the slowly wriggling dark red substance inside carefully, and then turned to George.

"Was the journey smooth?"

George decided to tell the truth: "I encountered a very tall, dark figure by the lake. It felt very dangerous, so I ran back."

The viscount's brows furrowed immediately, as if he were somewhat surprised.

"A black figure? Very dangerous?" He pondered for a moment and then said, "Describe in detail what it looked like, and the specific circumstances of its disappearance."

George could probably describe the shape of the shadowy figure, the oppressive feeling it brought, and the eerie scene when it suddenly appeared.

After listening, the Viscount remained silent for a moment, and George inexplicably sensed that his expression had changed several times.

Finally, he said slowly, "Perhaps you unfortunately encountered the mastermind behind it all. In any case, it's fortunate that you returned safely."

He carefully placed the sample bottle on the small table beside him, then changed the subject:

"As believers in the spiritual and enlightened path, we naturally know how to use light and shadow to transmit memories and knowledge."

"Although you cannot directly use these secret techniques right now—that's the method of the Venerable Lawgiver—there is still a compromise that allows you to share in the sights and experiences of this journey."

He waved his hand gently, and the multi-drawer cabinet beside him obediently opened. A box flew out and landed steadily on the table in the room.

The two approached the table, just as the box opened automatically, revealing a long, thin silver needle pen resembling an embroidery needle and a heavy, square mirror inside.

But the mirror was completely white and empty.

As the viscount took out his silver needle pen, he explained:

"Next, I will teach you the mandala diagram, a technique passed down from Bharata and improved by the alchemists of the kingdom. It can bear the important responsibility of transmitting senses and memories."

"With its help, I can gain a more intuitive understanding of what you just experienced and make further judgments."

Having said that, the Viscount glanced sideways at George, a smile playing on his lips:

"I bet your childhood interests haven't faded yet, have they? Don't let Mr. Braun's reputation as a painter go to waste."

He was referring to a painting teacher who had been with George during his childhood.

"Yes, Father, I believe I can still pick up a paintbrush and create a work that is worthy of being seen."

George nodded; he had indeed inherited the original owner's drawing skills.

"Very good, do as I say from now on."

The viscount began to instruct him:

"Activate your spirituality and recall all your feelings when you encountered that shadow—visual, auditory, and especially subjective emotional perceptions."

Let your spirit guide your hands, and sketch out that subconscious impression...

After listening, George did as he was told, walked to the desk, and picked up a silver needle pen.

He closed his eyes, focused his mind on the warm flame within his body, and carefully guided the energy to his fingertips.

Trying to clear his mind, he recalled the scene by the lake: pitch black, a dim outline, a cold gaze.

George then felt the pen tip begin to tremble and warm slightly, as if it had come to life.

When he opened his eyes again, his hands moved almost on their own.

The slender pen tip moved swiftly across the mirror surface, drawing lines that seemed to spread like ink into water.

As the silver needle pen smoothly glides across the mirror, countless lines, angles, arcs, and rectangles begin to extend, and complex patterns unfold like petals, freely spreading from all four sides of the pen tip.

George didn't think about how to start writing; he was completely immersed in that state of recollection and spiritual guidance.

Large, deep shadows were cast in the mirror, their swirling and blurring creating a tense atmosphere that seemed about to burst forth from the paper.

Soon, an abstract yet highly captivating mandala image appeared on the mirror.

The background of the painting is a pitch-black night, especially in the center. But the surrounding brushstrokes are turbulent and noisy, making the direct feeling of encountering unknown terror obvious.

George put down his pen, exhaled softly, and felt a slight dizziness.

The spiritual energy required to paint this picture seems to be greater than that required for the previous battles and journeys.

The viscount's gaze fell on the mandala, carefully examining the information contained within the dark and magnificent painting.

At first, his expression was relatively calm.

But soon, his gaze was fixed on the dark area in the center of the picture that symbolized a shadow.

George saw his fingers tighten suddenly as he gripped the cane, his knuckles turning white.

His lips began to tremble slightly, uncontrollably, on his pale face.

George vaguely saw an extremely complex expression swirling in his eyes—shock, disbelief, and then a deep, overwhelming pain.

The room was deathly silent, save for the Viscount's increasingly rapid breathing.

"...Father?" George asked tentatively, feeling uneasy.

The viscount seemed not to hear, his gaze still fixed on the painting.

"Ada... my life, my love... I forgot..."

George felt a chill run down his spine, realizing that the picture might reveal a secret far more astonishing than he had imagined.

Suddenly, the Viscount abruptly raised his head, his eyes gleaming as he looked at George.

George felt a jolt, as if his weary spirit had been pricked by a needle.

"Excuse me, let me have some peace and quiet..." The Viscount's voice suppressed some intense emotion.

"Father, are you alright?" George stepped forward and asked with concern.

"I said, let me have some peace and quiet!"

The viscount turned abruptly and stumbled out the door, his pace so fast it was hardly befitting of a weak patient.

George was surprised to find that his footsteps even left scorch marks on the floor.

"Ida, my treasure, my rose..."

The extraordinary individual walked briskly down the empty corridor, muttering to himself, like an ordinary heartbroken lover.

Soon he arrived at an iron gate on the third floor.

With a wave of his hand, the seemingly indestructible iron gate silently opened on its own.

He strode into the dark passageway.

Before long, he circled up the long stone steps inside the manor tower and came to a room behind a wooden door.

As he stepped in, countless candles instantly lit up on the floor of the room, like twinkling stars surrounding the central ring.

The viscount could no longer control himself and knelt down.

"I was wrong. Without you by my side, I have been extremely depressed for the past five years."

With a confessional murmur, a blinding light flashed in his eyes.

But at the same time, a pitch-black liquid, like tar, flowed out.

The tears fell on his pale, jade-like face, as if drawing tears from a mask.

"I can't believe I didn't realize you were right next to me, it's just..." He let out a sigh that sounded like it came from afar.

With that sigh, the candles in the room flickered as if swept by a gust of wind.

The intense light in his eyes completely dissipated, turning into pure black.

After a long while, a calm voice came.

"If you wish to climb higher, your body must be free of darkness, and your heart must be devoid of benevolence."

"For you, my love, I find peace in the shadows..."

"No, no, that won't do!"

Perhaps it was because of the burst of light that darkness rose once again.