The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

The inspector held the silver isometric cross firmly to his chest, as if wielding an invisible sword of Gryffindor, and led George and Bates out of the mansion.

In an instant, the swarm of black insects writhing like boiling oil at the foot of the steps writhed violently and retreated automatically from the path in front of them, as if splashed into soap.

A roughly circular passage, barely large enough to fit through, was carved out by the inspectors.

The three of them carefully stepped inside, each step landing on the ground that countless tiny creatures deliberately avoided.

"George, you give us directions." Douglas's voice was low and tense as he scanned the surroundings. "We need to find and rescue them as soon as possible."

The three walked along the path from the main house toward the lake shore, the surrounding scenery chilling.

The once meticulously manicured garden now looked as if an ink bottle had been overturned, with tiny, wriggling black insects crowding the bushes, blades of grass, and even the gaps between branches.

Under the protection of the cross, they did not launch an attack, but merely served as a living backdrop of malice, providing a chilling and distorted spectacle.

George and his group searched for nearly twenty minutes, bypassing the eastern gardens and heading south along the gravel path by the lake.

Just as they approached a relatively open coastline on the south side of the island, Bates, who was walking slightly ahead of them, suddenly stopped.

"Over there."

Following the direction he was pointing, George and the inspector also saw it.

About fifty yards from the shore, a figure sat on a protruding rock, his back to them and facing the grey-green lake.

"Thank goodness, we finally found him." Douglas gasped, quickening his pace. "Mr. Arthur! How are you?"

Arthur, in the distance, seemed to hear the call.

He slowly turned his head, raised a hand, and waved from afar.

Perhaps it was imitating a cowboy's movements, with a touch of exaggerated nonchalance, but George's heart skipped a beat.

Despite the distance, the waving arm... looked a bit off, as if it were covered with a layer of undulating black substance.

The three quickened their pace.

As the distance decreased, the chilling full picture gradually became clear.

Arthur de la Porte was still wearing that well-fitting hunting outfit.

But at this moment, countless tiny black insects densely covered his entire body, from his boots to his hunting hat, with almost no inch of skin exposed.

They were like a layer of thick, writhing black velvet wrapped around the human figure, rising and falling with Arthur's every breath and every subtle movement.

Even his face was crawling with insects, leaving only his bloodshot eyes, which gleamed with an unnatural light.

Most incredibly, this uncle, who was wrapped in a living cocoon, was leisurely taking out a pipe from his mouth and taking a deep drag.

Smoke billowed from the lips covered by the swarm of insects, carrying with it a few tiny flying insects struggling at the edge of the flames before turning to ashes.

He seemed oblivious to the insects covering his body and face, even jumping into his pipe and burning black smoke, completely immersed in a bizarre enjoyment.

"Oh, dear George, Inspector, and Mr. Bates?"

Arthur, with a pipe in his mouth, spoke through the swarm of insects, his voice strangely muffled, but his tone remained as relaxed as ever.

"You've also come to enjoy the afternoon air by the lake? What a coincidence!"

As Uncle stood up, the swarm of insects fell as if covered in dust.

He didn't care at all, just patted his backside as if the dust on his buttocks was more unbearable than the insects all over his body.

George watched him grin as he removed his pipe, flashing a white smile at them from the pile of insects, and felt like the world had probably gone mad.

Douglas ignored the pleasantries, holding the cross, his face ashen, and strode forward.

"Mr. Arthur Delapour!" The inspector's voice was clearly choked with suppressed emotion. "Come back with me immediately! It's dangerous here!"

As the inspector approached, Arthur's smile froze abruptly, then quickly twisted into an undisguised disgust and loathing.

He suddenly took a few steps back, almost falling into the lake.

"Shut up! You morally corrupt tyrant!"

Arthur Tumbert pointed his worm-covered finger at the inspector, and more worms jumped off his finger.

His voice suddenly rose, carrying a malicious excitement.

"Ghoul's lackeys and henchmen! You and the Anglicans are harboring filth in London, calling yourselves guardians of order, but we know the truth!"

He began to hurl insults, his words filled with profanities from the New World.

"You're sending evil things to the colonies! Those 'things' that've caused chaos in Libya, Akipé, and the New World are all your doing! You've treated the lives of the entire kingdom's lowest citizens like dirt for the sake of XXX profits!"

Inspector Douglas stepped forward, and the light of the cross stirred a sizzling wave on the swarm of insects surrounding Arthur.

"Mr. Arthur! Shut up!" the inspector shouted sternly. "You've been influenced by special forces. What you're saying is..."

"Shut up! Even if I go mad, die here, or jump into the lake, I will always remember that the Imperial Federation is XX! And that Empress XX sitting on XX is XXX!"

Arthur took a few more steps back, almost into the lake, but he still interrupted the inspector defiantly, becoming more and more excited as he looked at the inspector.

"I know what kind of bastards you're up to! Those 'Bones' scandalous deeds! Those shady dealings of secretly desecrating all the corpses in Britta!"

He pointed at Douglas and yelled, the swarm of insects on his face churning with his contorted expression as he spoke, almost falling into his mouth.

"I'm going to expose all that filth in the colonies to the Tamesis! To the Daily Telegraph! The whole kingdom will know what kind of scum you are!"

Inspector Douglas's shoulders heaved violently, and his whole body trembled, clearly enraged by the accusations.

George felt a pang of anxiety; he knew he couldn't let his uncle provoke the inspector any further.

Regardless of whether the accusations are true or false, Arthur is clearly not behaving normally at this moment, and continuing like this will only cause the situation to spiral out of control.

He quickly patted Douglas's arm, drawing the inspector's attention away from his impending loss of control.

Without waiting for a response, George immediately brought the flute to his lips.

This time, instead of choosing the soothing "Spring Song," he opted for a grander and more penetrating melody.

Wagner, Das Rheingold, the opening "Sunrise" section.

A deep, slow melody, like mist rising from a deep mountain valley, flowed from the flute holes.

With spiritual blessing, the musical notes seemed to carry the first rays of the rising sun.

As George played, a ripple, imperceptible to the naked eye but clearly perceptible on a spiritual level, spread outwards.

The ripples intersected with the invisible realm opened up by the Inspector's Cross, and then spread outwards.

The effect is immediate.

Centered on Douglas, George, and Bates, beyond the reach of the cross's light, the dense swarm of insects seemed to have encountered a natural enemy.

At first, the insects on the periphery began to writhe wildly, trying to escape.

Immediately afterwards, more insects went berserk and lost their life force upon contact with the invisible ripples, sliding off Arthur like dust and piling up in a small patch on the stone ground.

The fervor in Arthur's eyes gradually faded as the number of insects on his body decreased, replaced by a deepening pallor and bewilderment.

His cursing grew fainter and fainter, eventually becoming intermittent and weak.

George felt the spark of spirituality within him rapidly dwindling, making playing increasingly difficult, but he still persevered.

As the last note faded, the last insect on Arthur's body silently slid off, collapsing onto the pebbles at his feet.