The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Sam quickly helped Elliott carry his luggage onto the ship.

Elliott boarded the ship first, then reached out and steadily helped Bates.

After the three men boarded the boat, Sam untied the mooring rope, skillfully poled the small boat away from the dock, and then raised a sail.

The wind was light, the sail was only half full, and the small boat left a trail on the lake surface as it slowly made its way toward the island in the middle of the lake.

The water of the rotten lake was slightly murky near the shore, but as the small boat went deeper, the water became darker and took on a metallic gray-green hue.

The rippling water reflected the sapphire blue sky and the desolate autumn scenery on the shore.

The boat sailed smoothly, with only the sound of waves lapping against the hull and the gentle rustling of the wind through the mast.

George stood at the bow of the ship, gazing at Paradise Island as it drew ever closer.

The island is densely wooded, and the outlines of towering spires and mansions can be vaguely seen.

He asked in a casual tone, "Sam, how's everything at home lately? Father's health... and Grandmother's?"

Sam was adjusting the rigging when he heard this and paused for a moment.

"Young Master, the Old Madam is still in relatively good health, but she is worried about you. The Master..."

He hesitated for a moment, as if he was carefully considering his words.

"The master's health has been fluctuating lately, and he has been resting. The mansion is managed by Mr. and Mrs. Albert."

George understood and stopped asking questions, bending down to put his hand into the lake water outside the ship's side.

The lake water was icy cold, and he inexplicably felt that it had a viscous texture, as if it were actually mixed with rust.

The moment his fingers touched the water, the warm spark of spiritual energy within him seemed to be stirred very slightly.

The feeling, like a heartstring being gently plucked, is fleeting.

George frowned, quickly withdrew his hand, and carefully sensed the surroundings.

The lake water remained cold and deep, showing no other unusual signs except for that faint, almost imperceptible sensation.

He stared at the water where his finger had just been dipped; the lake water rippled as the boat moved, revealing nothing particularly special.

"Young Master?" Sam, who was standing nearby, noticed George's actions and expression and asked in confusion.

George immediately composed himself, a slightly melancholic smile appearing on his face, and gestured with his hand:

"It's nothing, Sam. I've just been away from home for so long, and seeing this lake made me a little sentimental."

Sam nodded understandingly, asked no more questions, and continued to focus on steering the boat.

The small boat broke through the water and continued its journey toward Paradise Island.

George shifted his gaze from the lake to the increasingly clear island pier.

Unbeknownst to him, a trace of blood-red color quietly spread across the surface of the water he had stirred with his fingers, only to be quickly swallowed up by the deep lake water, as if it had never appeared.

A moment later, the four people's small boat smoothly docked at Paradise Island Wharf.

Sam skillfully tied the ropes and set up the springboard.

George stepped onto solid ground and smelled the air, a mixture of the fishy smell of the lake and the cool scent of distant vegetation.

Two open carriages were already waiting on the gravel road beside the dock.

"Young master, please get in the carriage." Sam gestured to the first carriage and directed the servants waiting there to load the luggage onto a smaller baggage cart behind.

The carriage traveled along the winding road toward the higher reaches of the island.

Tall elm trees lined both sides of the road, their branches casting deep shadows in the twilight.

The sound of wheels rolling over gravel was monotonous and crisp.

Through the gaps in the trees, George could see the outline of the main house gradually approaching from a distance.

It was a massive gray stone building with a steep roof, towering chimneys, and a striking tower.

Against the backdrop of a blue-gray sky, the manor exudes a heavy and lonely majesty.

The carriage eventually came to a stop in the open gravel field in front of the main house.

The mansion’s massive oak front gate was wide open, and warm yellow light streamed out, dispelling some of the evening chill.

A small group of people were already standing in front of the door.

George recognized the manor's butler, John Carson, as the leader. He was tall and imposing, dressed in a sharp black tailcoat, with gray hair that was neatly combed, and a respectful expression on his face.

Two young men stood in front of Carson.

The man was Frederick, the original owner's younger brother. He was about twenty years old, slightly thin, but his eyes were unfocused.

The girl was his sister Sybil, about eighteen or nineteen years old. Her blonde hair shimmered under the light, and she had a beautiful face and bright eyes. She was trying to maintain a proper smile, but her fingers were twisted together.

George stepped down from the carriage.

Butler Carson immediately stepped forward and bowed slightly: "Welcome home, Master George."

"It's been a long time, Carson." George nodded in response, then turned his gaze to his younger siblings, "Fred, Sybil, you too, it's been a long time."

"Brother George!" Sybil's voice was tinged with a barely perceptible sob. She took a small step forward, then stopped, maintaining her ladylike demeanor.

Frederick simply gave a vague reply: "George."

His gaze lingered on George's face for a moment before quickly shifting to Bates and Elliott, who were getting off the bus behind him.

Bates and Elliott also came over.

George introduced them: "This is Mr. John Bates, my friend, a colony lieutenant who served in Bharata. This is William Eliot, my personal man."

Carson's butler's gaze swept quickly over the two of them.

Bates's posture and the alertness in his eyes made him linger for a moment longer, then he nodded to the two of them:

"Mr. Bates, Mr. Elliott, you must be tired from your journey. Welcome to Paradise Island Manor."

"Mr. Elliott, please come with me." Carson turned to Elliott. "I'll show you around the servants' quarters and your living quarters."

Elliott immediately looked at George, and after receiving an affirmative look from the latter, he respectfully said to Carson, "Thank you for your help, Mr. Carson."

He then bowed slightly to George, Frederick, and Sybil, and followed Carson and his servants through a side door into the mansion.

"Mr. Bates, please come with me and rest for a while." Another waiting male servant stepped forward to lead the way.

Bates nodded to George and followed him away.

"Grandmother and Father are waiting for you in the study, as are Uncle and Uncle Arthur," Sybil's voice was cheerful as she tried to break the silence at the door. "They are all very happy that you are back."

"Yes, it's good that you're back," Frederick echoed, his tone somewhat perfunctory.

George followed his younger siblings into the hall.

In the grand hall, the marble floor gleamed, and several family portraits hung on the walls.

The crystal chandelier emitted a soft glow, but it couldn't dispel the stale atmosphere and an indescribable sense of oppression in the air.

The fireplace crackled with burning firewood, providing a little warmth, but it didn't seem enough to warm the entire space.

They walked through a thickly carpeted corridor and came to a heavy oak door.

Sybil knocked softly on the door, then pushed it open.

The study is spacious and comfortable, with bookshelves that reach the ceiling on all four walls, filled with books.

The flickering firelight from the fireplace illuminated the dark leather sofa and the heavy desk.

George's elders were sitting there.