The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

"This is exactly my deepest concern, young master, to be honest." Carson's voice was filled with genuine worry.

"My lord has gradually slid from the pride and wisdom of many years ago into the abyss of paranoia. Seeing his actions over this period of time... I am very, very worried that you will suffer the same tragic fate as my wife."

"If I allow such a thing to happen again, my honor, my conscience—if not as a gentleman but as a butler—will be shattered, and my life will be rendered worthless by this disgraceful act."

The old butler's voice choked with emotion: "So... even if this action is extremely excessive... I must tell you the truth."

He buried his face in his hands.

George looked at the old butler who had served the family his whole life, but was now covering his face and trembling all over, and a complex mix of emotions welled up in his heart.

He found it difficult to measure the weight of the morality accumulated by an old man throughout his life—even from the perspective of a steward in this era, as he put it.

After a moment of silence, George stepped forward and gently patted Carson on the shoulder.

"Alright, Carson, although what you've told me is quite terrifying..."

His voice carried a soothing quality, though its content was equally heavy.

"But I think that in the same situation, I myself could not have done better than you."

He gazed into the butler's reddened eyes: "You are an extremely noble and loyal man. Everything you did in this matter is impeccable, not to mention providing me with crucial information for future actions—you are certainly worthy of your honor and conscience."

Carson looked at George, her eyes glistening with tears.

He said slowly and solemnly, "Thank you, young master, this means a lot to me."

George nodded. "So, given the current predicament of the manor, besides yourself, who else is there who should be contacted who knows the situation? What are your thoughts on the family members?"

Carson calmed himself down and began to seriously consider George's question.

"Among the servants, apart from the master's loyal and personal man Thomas, it would be difficult to find anyone who knows the inside story."

As for the family members, Mr. Albert probably only knew the basics; the old lady might know quite a bit, but she always maintained the utmost discretion and kept her mouth shut. However…”

Carson's tone became hesitant and pained:

"Young Master, I suspect Miss Sybil might know about this. After Madam's accident, Miss Sybil's behavior underwent some subtle changes..."

While it's difficult to pinpoint the specifics, given her recent state, this possibility makes me very uneasy. To be honest, seeing her like this breaks my heart.

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In fact, George didn't spend much time talking to the butler in order to avoid suspicion.

When he left the butler's room, all the lights in the hallway were already on.

Dusk seeped in through the high windows, mingling with the warm light inside.

Countless thoughts churned in his chest, but his steps remained steady as ever.

This was a skill he honed after transmigrating, combining his consistent silence from his previous life.

No matter how agitated one's emotions are, to others it is nothing more than "solemn silence".

George entered the restaurant and found that the long dining table had already been set up.

The candles on the silver candlesticks cast a warm glow on the white tablecloth, making the lid of the large plate in the center gleam.

The old lady's seat was empty, the viscount was still nowhere to be seen, and the uncle, who was the main force in enlivening the atmosphere every day, was absent. The absence of the butler, Carson, made the two sides of the dining table seem even more empty.

But George noticed that despite the absence of the master and the head butler, the table setting remained impeccable—clearly, the manor had not yet been brought down by the series of calamities.

"Sorry I'm late." George nodded to the group of people who were already seated and pulled out a chair for his usual spot.

Uncle Albert, who was temporarily seated in the main seat, visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Perfect timing, perfect timing. Mrs. Patmer has prepared a grand meal tonight, and I was just afraid you'd miss it."

Lieutenant Bates was seated to George's right, followed by Miss Kelly Moore, while Sybil and Frederick sat on the other side of the long table.

After several exquisite appetizers, the uncle lifted the lid of the plate in the middle of the table, revealing a large piece of glistening, fragrant roasted leg meat.

George noticed that Inspector Douglas, sitting opposite him, had his eyes light up the moment he saw the main dish.

My uncle made a cut at the joint of the roasted leg meat to let the juices flow out, then sliced ​​it thinly and arranged it on a plate.

The inspector carefully cut a piece of meat from the plate with his knife and fork, picked it up, and examined it closely.

"This is... a male red deer?" the inspector asked, a hint of joy in his voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Patmer just harvested the ingredients yesterday," Uncle Albert explained. "She matured them for almost two weeks, marinated them with spices for half a day, and then roasted them with bacon."

George looked down at his plate.

The venison cut by the servant was a uniform pink color, easily separated by a knife and fork, with glistening juices seeping through the delicate meat.

Next to it is baked mashed potatoes, topped with a thick gravy made from venison bones and minced meat, and garnished with a few chopped herbs.

There was also a small dish of brightly colored, sweet and sour jam-like side dish on the side, which smelled of plums and orange peel.

The inspector cut off a small piece, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, and a genuine sense of pleasure appeared on his face.

"Exquisite." He put down his knife and fork, dabbed his lips with a napkin, and said, "The outer layer is slightly charred, the inside is juicy, and the spices are used just right—they don't overpower the natural flavor of the venison, but rather enhance its richness."

"I'm glad you like it," Uncle Albert said. "The plantation's food supplies have indeed been affected; the fresh vegetables and fish that were supposed to be delivered today couldn't arrive on time because of what happened outside. But Mrs. Patmer always manages to pull off a miracle."

George ate in silence.

The venison was indeed excellent, but he couldn't seem to discern any difference in taste.

The butler's confession echoed in his mind: his mother had died during his father's promotion ceremony.

He recalled the viscount's radiant flame entwined with black threads in the dream realm, the father's devastated expression in the mandala painting, and the black figure by the lake whose eyes emitted white light and whose female voice told him to "run away quickly."

The problems within the manor are truly enormous.

But at least one thing is clear: the father's so-called "serious illness," the so-called "decline of the family," and even his decision to bring him back to inherit the family business were all part of a deeper scheme.

At this moment, Miss Kelly Moore, who was standing to the side, spoke up with a smile after tasting a few bites of venison.

"Mr. De La Porte, this venison is truly exquisite." She turned to George, her tone more relaxed than it had been in the garden.

"To be honest, my job often requires me to work overtime, so I rarely have the chance to eat such delicious food, which is why I pay extra attention. Is this aging and marinating technique a family-passed craft passed down through generations at the estate?"