The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Chapter 93 Plague and Flies (21) The Viscount Awakens

As George and Ms. Celsa walked out of the last room in the north isolation zone, the elderly Lady Violet, leaning on her cane and supported by the butler Carson, was already waiting at the end of the corridor.

"George!" The old lady's voice trembled noticeably. "How is he?"

George bowed slightly: "Grandmother, the medicine has been distributed, and the symptoms are under control. The fever has subsided, and the inflammation around the rash is receding."

Carson stepped forward, his usually calm eyes now unusually red.

"Young master, do you mean they've begun their recovery? Mrs. Patmer will be here soon—"

"It's stable now, Carson." George's voice was calm and resolute. "Ms. Celsa and I will continue to monitor the situation and adjust the treatment plan as necessary."

Ms. Celsa removed her plague doctor mask, revealing a pale and calm face.

She nodded slightly: "Currently, the symptoms are improving, and the medication is working as expected."

The old lady let out a long sigh of relief, her hand on her cane trembling slightly: "Thank God—thank God—you've worked so hard."

"It's what we should do, madam," Celsa said rather calmly. "Disease control is my area of ​​expertise."

.

George could sense that his grandmother wanted to say something more tender, but Celsa's professional attitude quickly made the conversation awkward.

He interjected at the opportune moment: "Grandmother, you should rest too."

The old lady nodded, stepped forward, and gently squeezed George's hand: "George, you're right, after so many days I can finally rest in peace—"

Just as the old lady was slowly turning around with George's help, a series of hurried footsteps came from the direction of the mansion.

A young male servant appeared panting at the corner of the corridor, his face flushed and his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement: "Young Master! Young Master! Madam!"

Carson frowned, but the man continued shouting loudly before the butler could reprimand him.

"Master is awake! He's already out of bed!"

The corridor fell silent instantly.

The old lady's cane landed on the ground with a crisp "thud," and George felt his heart skip a beat.

"Really?" the old lady stammered. "Edward—is awake?"

"Madam!" the manservant ran up to the group, panting, "Thomas sent me to invite Master George, saying the Viscount wants to discuss some important matters with him."

Ms. Celsa's gaze sharpened instantly, and she turned to George: "Let's go."

The old lady was also roused by the news, and she gestured for Carson to pick up his cane: "Let's go back immediately."

The group practically jogged back to the mansion.

They headed straight for the reception room on the first floor, their hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor, the air thick with a mixture of tension, anticipation, and inexplicable unease.

Several people were sitting on the sofa in the reception room, including Inspector Glass, Miss Moore, and the lawyer.

Seated in the main seat, in the high-backed armchair, was Viscount Edward de la Porte.

He wore a dark brown morning robe, and although his face was still pale, it no longer had that sickly ashen look.

His hair was neatly combed, and a polite, gentle smile played on his lips.

Upon seeing the three people at the entrance to the living room, the Viscount said, "George, you're back." The Viscount's voice was strong and clear, showing no sign of weakness.

George was stunned for at least two seconds.

He saw no sign of weakness on the Viscount's body, and his eyes were clear and bright, his gaze gentle as he looked at George and Lady Celsa.

"Father," George stepped forward and bowed slightly, "you—are awake."

The viscount nodded, then turned to the inspector and lawyer beside him: "I am very sorry to have caused you all concern. I hope it hasn't delayed the inheritance proceedings too much."

Inspector Douglas stood up: "It's the best news that His Excellency is recovering. The succession process is already underway, so there's no rush."

The Viscount nodded, his gaze returning to George.

"George, we need to talk."

He turned to Ms. Celsa and nodded slightly.

"Ms. Celsa, thank you for your help to the manor. Please forgive me for not being able to greet you earlier."

Ms. Celsa narrowed her eyes slightly, and George could sense that she was quickly analyzing the situation before her.

She maintained her polite smile: "Of course, Your Excellency. However, I have some matters concerning the High Court's appointment that I would like to discuss with you privately."

The viscount nodded, but his words were a refusal.

"Of course, but now is probably not the best time. George and I have some urgent family matters to attend to, so I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to wait a moment."

Celsa paused for a moment, then said, "Then, please allow me to take my leave."

As she turned around, her eyes met George's for a brief moment.

Lawyer McGill and Miss Kelly Moore also politely took their leave.

Inspector Douglas patted George on the shoulder and left the meeting room with the others.

Only George and the Viscount remained in the living room.

The firelight in the fireplace flickered, casting shifting shadows on the Viscount's pale face.

"You've done well, George," the Viscount said, his voice still gentle. "The new disaster has been handled very well."

George remained silent, his hands in his pockets, his fingers touching the coldness of the silver key.

The Viscount stood up and walked towards the living room door: "However, there are some things that require our immediate attention. Come with me."

George followed him through the corridor toward the west side of the first floor—the direction leading to Frederick's temporary isolation room.

His heart began to race, and countless thoughts flashed through his mind.

Is this "Viscount" really his father? Or is he the "dual spirit" mentioned on the card?

Shortly after, the two arrived at the room where George had ordered Frederick to be isolated.

The viscount pushed open the door, but before he knew it, a gleaming sword was thrust at him with a "whoosh".

But before the unfazed viscount, the tip of the sword came to a halt.

Upon seeing that the visitors were the Viscount and George, Bates awkwardly sheathed his sword.

"I'm sorry, Your Excellency, I didn't expect..."

"It's alright, I really didn't knock. I'm the one who should apologize."

The Viscount paid no attention to Bates' behavior, but looked at Frederick lying on the wooden bed.

George, who followed in, spoke with a hoarse voice: "Father—Fred, he—"

"I know this is somewhat unexpected, but it's not entirely unmanageable," the Viscount said calmly. "Let's go."

George was stunned: "What?"

The viscount turned his head, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light: "We need to take him to the tower; the purification ritual can only be performed there."

He reached out and gently waved his hand at Frederick on the bed.

George saw a strange force spreading through the air, and his brother's body seemed to lose its weight, slowly floating up and hovering in the air.

The viscount turned and left, while his younger brother floated steadily behind him.

"Keep up, George," the Viscount's voice came from ahead. "There's not much time left."