The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

While the Viscount and George were dealing with extraordinary matters on the third floor, the old lady knocked on a door on the second floor.

"Sybil, my dear, I heard you seem to be in a worse mood again today?"

The old lady entered the room, sat down in an armchair, and looked at the four-poster bed in the middle of the bedroom.

Sybil sat up in bed, her smooth golden hair cascading down, like a beautiful woman from ancient times in an oil painting.

"Grandma, I dreamt about Mom again last night."

"My darling, my granddaughter..." The old lady looked at Sybil with affection.

"She hugged me, and in her arms I felt like I was still in those old days, until I woke up—how ​​I wish I hadn't woken up, oh Grandma!"

Sibyl sat on the bed and immediately covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

The old lady quickly sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled her granddaughter into her arms, and gently patted her shoulder.

After a short while, Sybil slowly lowered her hand, her eyes reddening, and whispered in a heartbreaking voice:

"Grandma, did Mom really die from a sudden illness?"

The old lady looked at Sybil: "I don't understand, my dear, why do you ask that?"

Sibyl did not answer the question either, but instead said softly:

"Now that my brother is back, will this question be answered?"

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George took the crystal bottle.

He concentrated his mind, sinking his thoughts into the void deep within his mind.

The card table quietly appeared, and new cards were created on the table because of the potion.

【Drunken Dream Elixir】

[Sexual attributes: candle, wine, medicine]

[A potion, tinged with the vibrant red of a newborn before its eyes open, is used to help those newly glimpsing the world beneath its surface enter the dream realm. Its fragrance and sweetness are intoxicating even to behold; it was crafted by a highly skilled alchemist.]

The potion seemed to work perfectly, and the Viscount was unaware that he was distracted.

So George uncorked the small crystal bottle and drank the liquid inside in one gulp.

The flavor is somewhat peculiar, with the refreshing aftertaste of mint mixed with a sweet and intoxicating aroma similar to rum.

Following the Viscount's instructions, he lay down on the large, soft chaise lounge, trying to relax his body as much as possible.

The viscount sat beside him, his unusually bright eyes fixed on him.

The medicine seemed to take effect quickly, a soothing dizziness came over me, and the surrounding scenery began to blur, the colors blending and separating.

He felt his consciousness being pulled away from his heavy body, like a drowning person rising to the surface.

After a feeling of weightlessness, he "opened" his eyes.

George found himself still lying in the chair, but his perspective seemed to have been slightly elevated.

The environment was bathed in a cobalt blue light—probably due to the cobalt blue sky outside.

The room's outline was still roughly intact, but all the colors had become unusually saturated and fluid, as if covered with a layer of oil paint.

The edges of the walls and furniture shimmered with a faint light, and countless tiny, ever-changing specks of light floated in the air.

He was immediately drawn to the presence beside him.

The viscount was still there, but in the dream realm's view, he hardly resembled a physical human form.

At this moment, he resembled a highly concentrated, intensely burning, and dazzlingly radiating humanoid flame.

Its brightness far exceeds that of the surrounding environment, making it difficult to look directly at.

However, within this dazzling flame, countless heterochromatic threads, resembling blood vessels, were entwined.

Blood seeped into jade, snow embedded in mud, the flame of cobalt was a deep blue with a hint of snow... In his reverie, George saw an ominous black shadow within it.

They lingered and seeped into the depths of the light, seemingly slowly devouring it.

"This is one of the reasons why my days are numbered."

The viscount's voice rang out directly in his "consciousness," a voice as grand and resonant as a great bell, yet as calm as if he were stating something trivial that had nothing to do with him.

"However, that's not the point. Let's focus on finding the pollution by the lake and retrieving samples."

George suppressed the shock in his heart and averted his senses from the Viscount.

He tried to move and found that his "body" was incredibly light. With a thought, he passed through the closed door and arrived at the third-floor corridor.

The corridor seemed even deeper in the dream realm, and the eyes of the portraits on the walls seemed to gleam with a lifelike light.

He didn't stop, but "walked" towards the stairs, with a clear goal—the distant shore of the decaying lake shrouded in dark red.

George's consciousness drifted lightly through the dream realm, penetrating the walls and closed doors and windows of the third-floor corridor.

Everything around was bathed in a strange brightness, and the portraits hanging on the wall seemed to have breath and warmth, so vivid that they looked as if they were reaching out from the frames.

He didn't stop, but moved straight toward the stairs, his goal clear—the rusty lakeshore shrouded in an ominous dark red.

The closer you get to the exit of the mansion, the stronger the metallic smell in the air becomes.

The senses in the dream world are more acute than in reality; the smells are almost solidified, suffocating.

Passing through the main gate, the originally elegant and orderly courtyard is distorted and deformed in the dream realm's vision, and the outlines of the plants and trees seem to be covered with a layer of constantly flowing oil paint.

George walked lightly along the gravel path toward the lakeshore, looking as if he were wearing seven-fart boots.

A moment later, the dark red lake came into view.

In the dream realm, it resembles a single, dark red gelatinous substance. The lake no longer reflects the sunlight but instead exudes a murky, oily sheen.

The water near the shore was particularly dark, almost brownish-red, as if blood had congealed.

The fishy smell in the air made George feel sticky all over and quite uncomfortable.

Following the viscount's instructions, he took out the small glass bottle and long-handled crystal spoon he had brought.

In the dream realm, the two items were surrounded by an extremely faint white halo, which stood out conspicuously in the environment shrouded in filthy red.

The closer he got to the lake, the stronger the discomfort became, as if countless eyes were watching him from beneath the viscous red water.

George bent down and dipped the long spoon into the dark red lake water, feeling as if he were scooping up some kind of melted soap.

He scooped up a spoonful with some difficulty and carefully poured it into the glass bottle next to him.

Dark red "blood" flowed into the bottle opening and slowly writhed inside the bottle as if it had a life of its own.

George quickly stuffed the cork back into the bottle, not daring to delay, and immediately turned around to prepare to return the way he came.

However, just as he turned around, the entire dreamscape seemed to distort slightly.

The outline of the main house in the distance blurred for a moment, like an image with a poor signal.

A feeling far colder than the lake water suddenly spread from behind him.

George turned around abruptly.

About ten yards away at the edge of the grass, a tall, dark, human-shaped figure stood silently.

Unlike the flowing light and shadow commonly found in the dream realm, it was an absolute darkness without any light.

Its outline is blurred and indistinct, as if it were formed by the condensation of thick smoke.

As it stood there, George felt the gloom and malice of the world begin to materialize from his encounters; the vibrant environment was coming to an end, and the grayness was silently climbing to a high position.

However, the eyes of that "person" were empty and did not appear dark.

He felt a gaze that made him tremble as it locked onto him from the center of that darkness.

After a moment of distraction, a wave of oppression washed over him, a feeling more intense than ever before, even the presence of the Viscount in the Dream Realm had never given him.

George felt his stable spirituality begin to fluctuate violently, like a candle about to be extinguished by the cold without wind.

He couldn't even tell whether the shadowy figure was a physical entity or some more powerful spirit being.

Instinct overwhelmed reason.

Almost instinctively, George gripped the sample bottle tightly and "drifted" toward the main house as fast as he could.