The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

The old lady noticed the official document in George's hand and took it from him.

Her personal maid, Agnes, then handed her a pair of women's glasses, allowing her to take a closer look.

"So it's Ms. Celsa. Please forgive our rudeness, please come in and talk," the old lady sighed.

"Edward's condition is indeed not good. I think it would be best to wait until Edward's condition stabilizes before holding a formal witnessing ceremony."

Led by the old lady, the group went inside.

George suddenly remembered that the door had been open for so long, yet no flies had gotten in.

Before he could figure it out, everyone had already passed through the hallway.

"As for now, you can talk to George first. He has gradually taken over the family affairs."

Ms. Celsa, walking beside the old lady, turned to look at George.

"Since the old lady has given such instructions, then I should comply." Her attitude softened somewhat.

"Well then, Mr. De Laporte, if it's convenient for you, perhaps we could find a quiet place to talk?"

"Of course," George nodded. "The library? Or—"

"I'd like to speak with you privately," Ms. Celsa said gently, but George could also sense the determination in her voice. "There are some matters concerning inheritance that are best left to a limited audience."

The inspector seemed to want to say something, but the old lady gently patted his arm.

"Then let's go to the small living room," George said to Ms. Celsa. "Please."

He led Ms. Celsa along the corridor.

The inspector, Bates, and the old lady exchanged glances and went their separate ways—the inspector and Bates stayed in the living room, while the old lady returned to her bedroom.

On the other side, the lights in the small living room were turned on.

George gestured for Ms. Celsa to sit down, while he himself sat opposite her.

A male servant lit the fireplace in the room and then left, leaving only the two people in the room.

Ms. Celsa removed her silver mask, revealing an unexpectedly young face beneath.

He was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with pale skin, slightly high cheekbones, thin lips pressed into a line, and a straight nose.

Besides that, her eyes are also impressive—although they are just ordinary brown, they easily give the impression of being scrutinized.

She carefully placed the mask on her lap and looked directly at George.

"Mr. Delapor, besides my duty to inherit the witness, I have another responsibility on this trip," Ms. Celsa said bluntly. "However, I would like to first understand the true state of the Rotten Lake Territory."

"Regarding family affairs, I have already completed most of the handover work with the lawyers. The manor is operating normally, and the accounts are being sorted out." George carefully chose his words, speaking about some trivial matters.

"Apart from my father's health condition, everything on the island is peaceful."

Ms. Celsa narrowed her grey-blue eyes slightly, and a very subtle, almost sarcastic smile curved her lips.

"Nothing happening?" she repeated the word. "Then what was that putrid and teeming smell I detected in that grove on the west side of the island tonight?"

George squinted and sized up the woman in front of him.

Ms. Celsa continued to elaborate on her findings, her tone neither triumphant nor friendly, more like presenting a verified report.

"Rotting vegetation, unusually dense insect activity, life force forcibly distorted and rapidly decaying. 'Distorted rebirth,' that's the power of the 'Lord of the Flies.' Mr. Delapor, what happened on the island?"

A moment of silence.

George knew his guess was right; this woman did indeed possess power beneath the surface of the world.

In this way, lying becomes less meaningful, although the truth can still exist in a "partial" form.

"It's not a problem inside the main house on the island," George said slowly, deciding to reveal part of the truth—and only part of it.

"Some of the servants have contracted an acute illness, similar to a severe cold with a skin rash. We have isolated them in separate rooms on the north side and taken some precautions."

He deliberately omitted Frederick, the mutated monster, and the deeper roots of the corruption.

"Similar to a severe cold?" Ms. Celsa immediately picked up on the key phrase. "Do the symptoms include high fever, polymorphic rash, rapid onset of fatigue and confusion? Is it transmitted through contact? Through the air? How long is the incubation period? How many people have been infected?"

A barrage of questions came at her, and technical jargon flowed from her lips, prompting George to re-evaluate her.

That inquisitive attitude, that meticulous and precise attention to pathological details, and perhaps even an unusual perspective on it...

"High fever and rash are the main symptoms," George slowed his speech, switching to a more professional communication style.

"The transmission route is still unclear. I have assumed two possibilities: contact and airborne transmission and have taken corresponding isolation measures."

"The incubation period is very short; symptoms can appear within hours of exposure. There are currently about ten infected individuals, all of whom are male servants."

Ms. Celsa pulled out a notebook and pencil from somewhere and began taking notes rapidly, while simultaneously asking, "Are all the infected men?"

Yes, currently only men are included.

Celsa nodded thoughtfully, her pen continuing to fly across the paper as she muttered to herself.

"Sex-biased infection? Vector-borne transmission? But the physiological imbalance that comes with breeding contamination..." She looked up, her gaze intense.

"The syndrome description is very similar to the early stages of a proliferative plague, but the speed of its spread and the difficulty of its control do not match classic accounts. What intervention measures did you use?"

This woman likely has a medical background. That's almost certain.

George briefly explained measures such as ventilation and covering the mouth and nose with a cotton cloth soaked in vinegar.

After a slight hesitation, he also mentioned the relief potions that had been successfully refined.

"Deep-sea pearl powder...used to inhibit disease activity?" Ms. Celsa's eyes lit up when she heard about this ingredient. "An interesting insight."

Then she started writing and drawing in her notebook.

It seems the formula didn't attract much attention.

George thought for a moment, then added, "If the situation worsens, the inspector mentioned that we can request support from the Anti-Corruption Bureau—"

"No!"

Celsa immediately looked up from her notebook, her objection almost escaping her lips.

But George's gaze immediately made her realize her lapse in composure, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure.

"What I mean is... the process. The High Court is concerned with the situation in noble territories and has its own assessment procedures. The way the Anti-Suppression Bureau intervenes may undermine the independence and... accuracy of some assessments. This will add unnecessary trouble to what follows."

George looked at her, his doubts deepening.

There must be a hidden reason behind her such opposition to the Anti-Suppression Bureau.

But it seems inappropriate to ask further questions at this moment.

In any case, from her evasive attitude and her professional questioning about the symptoms and pollution, George had confirmed his judgment: this "Ms. Celsa" probably had a medical background and seemed to want to gain something from this matter.

He decided to reveal a card.

"Actually, I graduated from the medical school at the University of Edinburgh and then worked for a while at a nursing home near London," George said calmly.

"Although I mainly dealt with mental and neurological disorders there, my university experience also exposed me to a variety of other diseases."

Then he saw a satisfied reaction on the other person's face.