The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Amidst the chaos, Ms. Celsa strode quickly toward the pile of nest remains that had been blasted to smithereens by the inspector and fallen from the sky, her silver bird cane poking and prodding at the debris like a picky housewife rummaging through vegetables at a market.

"What a pity, the overall structure is completely destroyed, the spiritual connection is severed..." she muttered to herself, "Not even a drop of the corrupted blood remained?"

Inspector Douglas frowned and exchanged a glance with George and Bates.

The three of them tacitly stepped back a few paces, maintaining a distance that allowed them to react.

"Is she alright?" Bates asked in a low voice.

George shook his head: "There are no signs of pollution yet, but..."

Before he finished speaking, Celsa suddenly straightened up, used her cane to pick up a small piece of grayish-white hard shell from the wreckage, brought it close to her eyes to examine it carefully, and then threw it away in disappointment.

"Gentlemen, I must say that this crude and simplistic method of destruction is an absolute waste of research data."

Celsa's voice regained its composure as she turned around, her eyes behind the mask sweeping over the three of them.

"How much preliminary derivation work can a complete 'breeding nest' save us?"

The three looked at each other, then simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief; even George couldn't help but twitch his lips.

"Ms. Celsa," the inspector cleared his throat, "your reaction just now led us to believe..."

"You think I've gone insane under the influence of that 'Lord of the Flies'?" Celsa sneered, retracting her cane to her side.

"On the contrary, it is precisely this clear-headed scientific rationality that makes me regret the loss of this data. However—"

Her gaze shifted to the monster on the ground, tightly bound by ropes: "The sample is still there."

The woman took a syringe and a glass tube containing an amber liquid from the inner pocket of her dark cloak, her movements appearing quite practiced.

"My specially made, potent anesthetic," she explained briefly.

"Although its physiological structure may have changed, as long as the basic principles of the nervous system are still there, this will work. At least stopping it from struggling will facilitate transportation."

George stepped forward: "May I check it?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Celsa handed over the syringe and vial. George took them, his consciousness instantly sinking into the card table in his mind.

Paracelsus ether-regulating agent - high potency

[Sexual Properties: Flowing, Wine, Medicine]

[A sedative compound inspired by ancient Roman physicians can induce a coma lasting approximately twelve hours, followed by extreme drowsiness and disorientation upon awakening.]

[Note: This medicine is pure and free of impurities, with no obvious harmful side effects.]

He left the card table and handed the items back to Celsa: "No problem."

Celsa took it and walked toward the monster.

The thing seemed to sense something, its compound eyes swirling wildly, emitting a sharp screech.

But before it could make any move, Celsa had already precisely inserted the syringe into its neck.

Half a second later, the monster's struggles stopped abruptly, its eyelids drooped, and its breathing became long and steady.

"Very well, we'd better cover its head." Celsa pulled out a thick black cloth. "It should have lost its 'sight,' but it's better to be safe than sorry."

Bates stepped forward to help, tying the black cloth tightly around the monster's mosquito-head-shaped skull.

George noticed that his movements were very light, even somewhat...gentle?

This tough guy, who had experienced the battlefield, showed an inappropriate amount of care when facing this monster who had once been human.

The four of them worked together to lift the unconscious monster onto the carriage.

Bates found several thick canvas blankets to completely cover it, leaving only a little room for ventilation.

The carriage started moving, rolling over the smooth gravel path, and the morning light cast large patches of bright colors onto the carriage.

The inspector leaned back in his seat, habitually touching the equal-armed cross hanging on his chest.

"This cannot be concealed," he began. "It must be reported to the Anti-Corruption Bureau immediately, and a specialized team must be requested to handle it. The appearance of 'Lord of the Flies' forces on home soil is already rare, and besides—"

"Your Excellency, have you considered how long the official processing will take?" Celsa interrupted him.

"From reporting to obtaining permission, and then from the Royal Academy of Sciences or the Alchemist Order to arriving here... three days? Five days?"

"That is indeed a problem; the process is too long," George agreed.

"Furthermore, during our conversation last night, the heir to the manor told me that the epidemic has been brought under control by the medicine."

Celsa turned to look at George, her eyes gleaming behind the mask.

"As for this sample, it's much more efficient to study it in my own lab." She paused.

"Don't you think it would be the best outcome for all of us if it could be kept under wraps?"

The inspector fell silent. George noticed that Celsa had used "we" instead of "I" or "you."

"Madam, I understand your concerns," the inspector sighed, "but the procedure is to protect everyone."

"The program also implies delays and missed opportunities," Celsa said coldly. "What if this thing awakens, or the disease changes?"

The atmosphere inside the carriage became subtle.

"Inspector, we've already brought the source of the pollution under control. Let's wait another day," George said directly. "If it can't be resolved by then, I'll immediately agree to your proposal."

Douglas looked at him, then at Celsa and Bates, and finally nodded slowly.

The carriage drove past the manor gate and turned towards the side gate.

The monster was carried into an empty room on the ground floor of the mansion.

This place was originally used to store spare furniture for winter. It was far from the master and servants' living area. The door was heavy and sturdy, and there was only one tall window.

Celsa immediately began preparing the sampling tools.

She skillfully took out a scalpel, glass bottle, desiccant, and other items from her small leather suitcase.

As she approached the unconscious monster, preparing to collect a tissue sample from its "arm" joint, George instinctively reached out to stop her:

"Be gentle..."

Celsa paused, looking directly at George through her mask: "You seem particularly concerned about this sample."

Bates was quietly arranging security at the door with Carson, the butler who had rushed over after hearing the news, when he turned around.

The room fell silent for a moment.

George took a deep breath, knowing he couldn't hide it any longer.

He looked at Celsa: "This is my brother, Frederick."

Celsa's scalpel hovered in mid-air. She didn't speak, but the sharp eyes behind the mask widened noticeably.

"Judging from the clothing, I guessed it," Celsa suddenly spoke up. "But that doesn't change my research needs. On the contrary, if you want to reverse this situation, then my research is the only viable path."

She then turned to another angle to get to the bottom of things.

"How much detail can you provide about his transformation? When was the last time you saw him? Did you notice any unusual behavior?"

George suppressed the complex emotions in his heart.

"He had been depressed recently, and then he probably underwent a transformation in the room for some unknown reason... When I went to check on him before, I found a cocoon in the room that matched his size."

"The pupa shell, and the original molting location?" Celsa quickly jotted it down. "Such important information, why didn't you tell me sooner? Hmm..."

She looked up: "Take me to his room. It's preserved exactly as it was?"

"I think so. We rushed here together after they discovered the disappearance," Bates said at the door. "After that, no one from the manor was allowed to approach the area."

Celsa nodded and turned to look at the monster: "For now, tie it to the bed, weigh down its limbs with heavy objects, and we'd better arrange for a guard to watch over it."

Bates shrugged. "Sure thing, ma'am. I'll keep watch."

Celsa nodded in satisfaction and added, "After going to that room, I'll need a laboratory."

“There’s a makeshift alchemy room on the third floor,” George said. “I worked there before my father fell into a coma. The equipment was fairly complete.”

"That's enough." Celsa nodded and strode outside.

George followed behind, and as he passed Bates, the lieutenant asked in a low voice:

"George, do you really think... there's still hope?"

George did not answer.

He recalled the tips from the poker table: metamorphosis, pupa sheath, and the phrase "there is still a way to turn things around."

Now George can also start with the Book of Thresholds to find some methods that rely on ritual.

However, his own "Rationality" card has not yet been restored, and this strange but clearly insightful High Court representative might serve as a backup plan.

"We have to give it a try." George said, patted Bates on the shoulder, and then left the room.

The two walked through the corridor toward Frederick's room.

Inside the mansion, the buzzing of flies had completely disappeared, leaving only the quiet that a morning should bring.

"Ms. Celsa," George suddenly spoke, "how do you know so much about 'Lord of the Flies'?"

The figure ahead didn't stop, but a voice drifted over from under the brim of a hat:

"Because one of my areas of expertise is studying life forms that are considered 'impure.' Do you know which Svetim I worship?"