The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

George did not let that heavy moral weight linger in his heart for long.

The mental resilience honed through more than a decade of hard work in scientific research and dealing with KPIs and project assessments in his previous life came into play at this moment.

He almost habitually drew a clear line in his mind—he was certainly not an omniscient and omnipotent god, nor did he intend to become the absolute master of anyone's fate.

What the time traveler did was merely a necessary step to establish himself in this strange world; the choice ultimately rested with Elliott.

His expression shifted from a fleeting moment of complexity to its usual calm.

Elliott's watery eyes were looking at him, her sincere gratitude bordering on fierce with excitement.

Well, maybe it's because the person's eyes were slightly red and they were staring straight at you.

George cleared his throat. "It's certainly a strange feeling to possess unprecedented abilities, William. But power means greater responsibility and risk. The first thing you need to do is keep it a secret for now."

Elliott paused, then calmed down slightly: "Keep it a secret?"

"Not at least not now." George gestured for him to sit down. "There are people from the Anti-Corruption Bureau in the manor. You can think of them as the kingdom's official administrative body."

"This means I need time to get you legally registered to avoid future trouble. Until then, you can continue working and living your life as usual. Do you understand?"

Elliott nodded solemnly: "I understand, sir. Just as you instructed me when you first discovered those 'abnormalities' in me."

Then, this young man, who was not yet thirty, began to express his excitement in a free and flowing manner.

"As you may know, my mother died early, and my father was a bibliophile and book restorer in Liverpool. Back then, my house was full of books, in various languages ​​and editions."

A bitter smile appeared on his lips.

"Later, my father staked his entire fortune on an extremely important auction, only to find out it was a brilliant fake, leaving him penniless overnight. He couldn't bear it and chose... to end it all."

George listened quietly without interrupting.

"I had just come of age when my family property was sold to pay off debts. Since I knew at least a few words, I first went to work as a male servant in a gentry's house, helping to organize the library. Later, by chance, a passing merchant fleet urgently needed someone who knew a bit about natural history and could help organize the 'curiosities' collected by the captain, so I boarded the ship and became a sailor."

Elliott gazed at the sky outside the window, his tone gradually calming.

"Fate took a turn and brought me here, and now it's turned again."

He looked at George, his eyes clear: "I never imagined I would one day possess such power. Young master, thank you, really."

"You're welcome. Everyone walks their own path. Your father would be happy for you if he knew your situation," George said.

"Yes, young master. I will cherish this beginning." Elliot then asked cautiously, "So... what should I do next? Do I need to practice this strength?"

George looked at the young man who had just embarked on the path of the extraordinary, pondered for a moment, and then said:

"First, let's build a solid foundation. I will gradually show you some basic literature and notes, teaching you how to safely use your spirituality. Second, power brings opportunities, but also risks—I believe you've already experienced this."

His gaze swept towards the window.

"Now, go down first, and don't let anyone notice anything amiss."

Elliott straightened his back and gave a standard bow: "Yes, sir."

He left the alchemy room and went down the servants' staircase.

Although the young master described his newly acquired power as having many limitations, he still saw hope, a feeling he had never had since leaving the Messina.

He had a premonition that his future would probably not be limited to being a servant or butler.

Until he reached the corner of the stairs in the servants' quarters, in the hall where the servants usually ate, he saw the butler Carson standing there, holding a leash.

At the other end of the rope was a snow-white, robust Labrador Retriever. However, this beautiful dog looked somewhat listless, with its ears drooping.

Upon seeing Elliot, the Labrador still wagged its tail politely.

"Mr. Carson," Elliott said, stopping immediately to greet him.

"Elliott." Carson nodded slightly.

His gaze lingered on Elliott's face for a moment, as if he noticed something subtle—perhaps the slightly brighter eyes, or the tighter lines of his jaw.

But in the end, he simply pointed to the dog beside him: "This is 'Blanche,' the master's beloved pet."

The butler sighed, "Ever since the master fell seriously ill, Master Albert has occasionally taken her out for some fresh air. But now there are so many people and things going on at the manor, he can't take care of her as much as he wants."

The big dog wagged its tail; it definitely looked like it needed some exercise.

“If you’re busy, sir, I’d be happy to take her out for a walk,” Elliott blurted out.

Meeting the butler's gaze, he added, "Uh, I've finished all my work this morning."

Carson looked at him, then at the dog, and a rare smile appeared on his face.

"That's great, William. Blanche is very well-behaved, just keep her away from those messy, dirty areas by the lake."

"I will be careful, sir."

Carson handed the leash to Elliott.

Elliott took it and gently patted Blanche's head. The dog seemed to sense that they were about to go outside; its ears perked up, and it let out a low whimper.

"Go ahead," Carson said.

Elliott led Blanche by the hand, their steps light as they passed through the side door and headed out into the bright autumn courtyard.

The butler watched his retreating figure, his cheerful demeanor somewhat different from William's usual diligent but slightly dull nature.

He raised an eyebrow, then turned and went back to his patrol duties.

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

Inside the alchemy room, George sat back down at the table after Elliott left.

His consciousness once again sank into the card table, his fingertips gliding over the newly appeared [Holy Light] faction card.

His attention was first drawn to the club cards.

Try interacting with it using your mind, and a rule about "influencing believers" emerges:

As the founder of a cult, you can use cards such as potions and rituals to influence followers, assisting them in their practice, healing, or dealing with emergencies.

This action will consume the corresponding [Rationality], [Passion], or [Vitality] cards.

George frowned.

This feature is indeed powerful in the future, but its resources are currently limited—the [Rationality] card still needs to be used to analyze books, one [Passion] card has just been used and has a three-day cooldown period, and there is currently only one [Vitality] card.

More importantly, his main goal now has nothing to do with fighting, but rather to uncover the truth of what happened five years ago and to understand the Viscount's complete plan.

He set that aside for the time being and turned his attention to another more pressing issue—Sybil.

In my memory, I rarely came back after leaving home to study, and I wasn't very close to my family.

Carson mentioned that since their mother's death, her sister seemed to have changed, becoming gloomy and distant.

If you want to get information from her, you first need to rebuild your relationship.

George suddenly remembered something, took out "The Art of Alchemy" and began to look at the section on potions.

His gaze settled on a basic supplement formula whose effects were described as relieving anxiety and improving sleep.

It's perfect for Sybil's current depressed state, and the materials are all readily available, making it easy to refine.

A small, practical gift with good intentions might be the best starting point.

George closed the book, left the alchemy room, and went downstairs to the door of the Viscount's bedroom.

He knocked on the door, and Thomas's deep voice came from inside: "Come in."