The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

In the alchemy room, George found the bibliography that Thomas had mentioned the Viscount had arranged.

There were five books in total, some thick and some thin, plus a handwritten notebook. There was also a piece of paper with the Viscount's handwriting on it, which marked the reading notes.

Although the order of the book titles is clear, the format is somewhat casual.

It seems that, in addition to the note, the Viscount may be planning to combine it with an explanation.

However, plans can't keep up with changes.

Then George noticed a note on the inside of the drawer. Upon opening it, he discovered that it led to another drawer.

There was also a small stack of books in the second drawer, with a note on top of them.

George picked it up and looked at it; it said:

"These documents are for Lieutenant John Bates. Wild candidates who can break through the veil of the world's skin by selecting the right criteria are quite rare, and Lieutenant Bates is one of them—you two are very lucky."

"You must remember that your grandmother was of noble birth in the Roman Federation, but perhaps you don't know that the Roman Federation reveres the saviors as 'knights,' and their guiding principles are the 'hunting' and 'candle' principles. My father, the second viscount, may have had this in mind when he married my mother."

"I am now giving you the book 'Forging and Nourishing Life: The Secrets of the Warrior' from my family collection, as well as some manuscripts by the sword master Richternaur, to help you make friends with this awakened one. Of course, it would be best if you could win him over."

There's no need to worry about the Anti-Suppression Bureau's prohibition on secret cults. As a member of the Highgarden nobility, the family has its rights; it's just that they lack the suitable opportunity and resources to cultivate potential superhumans.

To be honest, George was a little surprised to see these.

Unexpectedly, the viscount knew his companion quite well and even offered him assistance.

In addition, the Viscount's arrangements were quite thorough, and many of his words were worth pondering.

George might recall writing in a letter to the nursing home, "Our family has fallen on hard times."

But given the strength the viscount demonstrated in resolving the two disasters, shouldn't he be able to support the family?

With so many contradictory details, George became increasingly suspicious of the Viscount's true condition.

Out of caution, he first went through the information provided by the Viscount on the card table.

After screening the books, he decided to leave most of them there and only take one basic book with a particularly fancy title.

A shocking secret! It turns out to be like this.

-----------------

As night deepened, the upper floors of Paradise Island Manor fell silent, but the servants' living space downstairs was busier than ever.

Several exhausted male servants returned one after another, covered in mud and lingering fishy smell from their work cleaning the lakeside, ignoring the curious glances of their companions.

The maids, urged in hushed tones by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, were hurrying to carry out a thorough disinfection.

A pungent smell of lime mixed with the smell of soapy water permeated the corridor.

Mrs. Patmore, the cook, peeked out from behind the kitchen door, her face unusually troubled. She was quietly telling a maid what special preparations were needed for the next day to suppress her nausea.

By the time most of the work was finished, it was already past midnight.

At that moment, the butler's door was ajar, and Mrs. Hughes, carrying freshly brewed tea, gently pushed the door open and went in.

Under the kerosene lamp, Butler Carson was engrossed in the last account book of the day, his brow furrowed, his fingers gripping the pen slightly stiff from days of tension.

Mrs. Hughes gently placed the steaming teacup on the table beside him, a little distance from his pen, making a barely audible sound.

She looked at Carson's still straight back and the deep wrinkles of worry that appeared particularly pronounced under the lamplight, hesitated for a moment, and finally couldn't help but break the silence in the room.

"Mr. Carson, I see you care a great deal about Master George, personally attending to his every need. To be honest, I'm a little curious—it seems to me that although this young master is respectable, he does seem..."

She carefully chose her words, avoiding directly using the terms "frivolous" or "unworthy": "Oh, I mean, it's not enough to make you take it so seriously and open your heart, is it?"

Upon hearing this, Carson put down his quill pen, a smile often seen on his face when an old man reminisces about the past.

"That's because you haven't seen what he looked like as a child, Mrs. Hughes."

His gaze seemed to pierce through time and walls, landing on a distant, small figure.

The butler stood up, walked to the door, and gestured to indicate the height.

"I remember, he was about... this tall, and only about five years old. One day, he ran up to me with such a proud air—"

Carson imitated the proud posture of a child puffing out his chest.

He said to me, "Mr. Carson, I'm planning to run away from home to become a real knight! Could I take some silverware in exchange for some travel expenses?"

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but cover her mouth and laugh: "Oh, this little guy really has some wild ideas!"

"really."

Carson's smile deepened, as if he were recalling the "interest" weapon.

"I had no choice but to tell him, 'Master George, the master might be quite troubled if he discovers that the silverware is missing. How about I lend you a shilling to spend in town?'"

"Of course he'd love to!" Mrs. Hughes chimed in, sensing there was more to the story.

"Not only was he willing, he also seriously told me, 'That won't do, Mr. Carson, that's not right! I have to give you interest!'"

Carson's eyes gleamed with a cunning yet warm light. He paused for a moment, as if that thing had reappeared before him.

"Then, he solemnly placed his beloved little wooden sword—which he had carved himself over three months—in my hand, as if handing over an important contract."

He said, "This is proof! When I become a great knight and have my own fiefdom, I will formally appoint you as my political officer to manage my territory!"

Mrs. Hughes smiled broadly, shaking her head. "Oh my, a mere shilling for a new political officer! Mr. Carson, you've made quite a shrewd deal."

"Shrewd? Mrs. Hughes, I don't think I've come out ahead."

Carson retorted gently, his expression quite serious.

"That's a shilling and a child's dream, exchanged for an old man's hopes for the future... It's always a good deal."

His gaze seemed to be fixed on a distant place, and his voice was full of certainty.

"He was special, Mrs. Hughes. From that time on, I knew he had his own principles and pursuits."

Mrs. Hughes' smile faded, her tone now tinged with satisfaction.

She chimed in, "And now, he's finally back at the manor from that little apartment in London, back under the care of our reliable and loyal Mr. Carson."

Carson straightened his back slightly, regaining some of the butler's seriousness, but a smile still lingered between his brows.

"Of course, as a housekeeper, I must honestly say that I do not approve of him living that kind of life in London at all."

Carson shook his head habitually.

"A life not lived by an heir is not one where one is served properly and served a meal without proper tableware."

He added:

"By the way, I was initially pleased that Master George brought back Mr. Elliott as his personal servant—although that happened afterward."

"Don't worry too much, Mr. Carson. He's back in charge of the business now," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile. "With you taking good care of him, he'll adapt quickly."

Carson nodded slowly and solemnly, his gaze firm.

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes, of course."

That promise was self-evident.

"I will take good care of him."