The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

As George played his tune, most of the insects that had fallen to the ground were dead, a few were still twitching, but they soon fell silent.

At this moment, Arthur's eyes rolled back, and he slumped backward, his body limp and weak.

Bates reacted the fastest, taking several large steps forward and steadily supporting his uncle's limp body, pulling him to the grass away from the lake.

George put down his flute and felt a slight dizziness.

The energy expenditure just now was greater than expected.

But before he could catch his breath, he immediately seized the opportunity to enter the card table in his mind.

Sure enough, a new card appeared on the card table.

[Lice Plague - Playing with Lice]

[Sexual aspects: Abyss, string, wine, medium, ritual]

"I don't ask for more than you; I just care more about life. It's that simple, like the lice."

Douglas quickly checked Arthur's condition, and after confirming that he was only unconscious, he straightened up and let out a long breath.

The inspector's face remained gloomy, but the near-out-of-control anger had dissipated, replaced by exhaustion and worry.

"He's alright now." The inspector looked at George, his tone more approving.

"You did a great job, George. That music was probably the technique of the Crescent Moon, wasn't it? It worked."

"I'm sorry, Inspector." George stepped away from the card table, catching his breath. "I believe what Uncle Arthur said just now was just rambling nonsense under influence. Please don't take it to heart."

Douglas gave him a deep look, offering no comment on his uncle's accusations, and simply shrugged.

Then he raised the cross again, illuminating the path ahead once more.

"Take him back first," the inspector ordered curtly. "This isn't over yet."

Bates nodded and easily hoisted the unconscious Arthur onto his shoulder.

Just as the three were about to turn around and return along the same route, a cry for help suddenly came from afar.

The sound came from the other side of the lake, in that area near the dock that they had never set foot in before.

"Help! Someone help! Help!"

Douglas's expression changed: "There are other people here?"

Without further hesitation, the three immediately followed the sound.

After rounding a thicket of bushes, the direction of the cries for help became clearer.

Not far from the dock, in a row of simple buildings, a small wooden door, probably where boatmen stored miscellaneous items, was being pounded from the inside, and insects kept falling off.

Douglas strode forward and, after all the insects had left, opened the wooden door.

Three figures inside the room behind the door retreated in unison, their faces filled with terror.

It was the butler John Carson and two young male servants.

Their faces were filled with terror, and their bodies were covered in dust and cobwebs, indicating that they had been hiding for quite some time.

Upon seeing the visitor, Carson's usually stern and expressionless face revealed, for the first time, an undisguised sense of relief and embarrassment.

"Master George! Thank God..." The butler's voice was hoarse, clearly from calling for too long.

"Carson!" George exclaimed, somewhat surprised to see the butler there. "What's going on? What are you all doing here?"

Carson took a breath and tried to straighten his butler's coat.

"We're stuck—we just finished inspecting the newly replenished ingredients and supplies at the dock and were preparing to send them back to the kitchen when a huge swarm of insects suddenly appeared in the nearby woods. Good heavens, there are so many!" the butler whispered.

"Then, as if the ground were breathing, more and more of them emerged from the grass, behind tree trunks, and even from cracks in the soil. A dark, overwhelming mass. The swarm appeared so quickly and densely that Sam jumped into the water and swam away, and we couldn't get back to the mansion at all. Luckily, the door to this storeroom was sturdy enough that we hid inside."

The butler's usually calm face was now filled with relief at surviving a disaster and an almost neurotic sense of relief.

"My God, I've seen a lot of strange things in my life, but never before have I felt so acutely like I was a piece of meat being used as prey. If we hadn't squeezed into this storage room in time and barricaded the door with the cabinet..."

He then went on and on about the oppressive feeling of listening to the swarms of insects crawling and scratching at the door in the cramped space.

As George listened, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

Normally, Mr. Carson's words are like finely polished silverware, but at this moment, this paragon of perfect butlers is like a pot of boiling water, pouring out lengthy descriptions incessantly.

From a certain insect he saw in the south when he was young, to the "suffocating feeling as if hell had collapsed" when the swarm appeared.

He even brought up old stories from his youth, such as how he had to sew his own swallowtail sleeves by hand because of an out-of-control horse, his voice rising and falling with great emotion.

The inspector clearly noticed something was wrong and gave George a look.

George subtly took a half step back, avoiding the spittle flying from Mr. Carson's waving arms as he described the scene.

He pulled over a young male servant behind the butler and asked in a low voice:

"Tell me, when the swarm appeared, what was your initial reaction and the order of your actions?"

The servant glanced quickly at Carson, who seemed about to continue his lament, and replied in a trembling voice:

"Yes, yes, sir... Tom and I were checking the inventory in the dock warehouse. The bugs... the bugs first emerged from the woods by the lake. As soon as we discovered them, Mr. Carson immediately told us to run back."

He swallowed hard.

"The bugs hadn't fully spread out at the docks yet, but after we ran a bit towards the mansion, the road ahead was covered in them. So Mr. Carson directed us to this storeroom; he was the last one to come in."

George's heart sank.

The last one to enter might have had direct contact with the swarm...

He looked at Carson, who was now vigorously wiping imaginary beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, muttering to himself:

"That sound, the sound of millions of tiny lives crawling. God, I could even feel them crawling over the door, searching for a crack..."

His gaze was somewhat unfocused, and he seemed oblivious to George's question and the servant's reply.

Carson was confirmed to have been bitten, a fact that George confirmed.

But now is not the time to delve into this; they should return to the mansion first.

Moreover, although Carson has behaved abnormally, he has not shown any signs of aggression or other danger so far.

I just talked a bit too much, but it shouldn't be a problem...

George nodded to the manservant, then raised his voice, interrupting Carson's recollection once again of how he was trapped in a clock tower during a rainstorm when he was a child.

"Carson, we need to return to the manor immediately. Inspector, may we depart?"

Inspector Douglas lowered his gaze from the sky, nodded, and once again raised the silver, equal-armed cross that radiated a steady, holy light.

"Let's go. Stay alert, but stick close to me."

The group stepped once again into the narrow passage that had been forcibly opened by the light of the cross.

Mr. Carson continued walking behind, his rambling never ceasing, now focusing on his concerns about the mansion's defenses and certain "historical problems" that he believed could be improved.

George walked to the side and slightly behind, glancing at the butler out of the corner of his eye from time to time, pondering something in his mind.

As George retraced his steps, passing the edge of the eastern garden, he suddenly stopped.

He turned his head sharply, looking towards the direction where the relatively open woodland met the lake shore at the southern end of the island.

In that instant, he seemed to catch something out of the corner of his eye—a tall, blurry black silhouette that flashed across the edge of his vision, disappearing in the shadows of the swaying trees.