The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

George hurried toward the mansion, guided by the path of light cleared by the amulet.

An ominous aura still lingered in the air through swarms of flies, which hovered outside the golden light's protective boundary, emitting an unsettling buzz, like thousands of greedy phantoms driven by hatred.

As he approached the fork in the road near the main house, a chilling sensation suddenly washed over him without warning.

The familiar sense of oppression made George abruptly stop in his tracks.

He turned his head sharply, his gaze piercing into the deep, dark place where the trees were lush and the shadows were dappled.

Even in the material world, that lightless being is not entirely invisible.

It was a dense, almost solidified darkness, seemingly absorbing the surrounding light, which made its outline appear old and indistinct.

This presence stood silently in the shadows at the edge of the forest, about ten yards away from him.

It was that dark figure I'd seen many times before.

A shadowy figure that appeared by the Dream Lake, spoke in a female voice, was recognized by the father in the mandala and stirred intense emotions within him, and had been watching all of this from the beginning...

George felt an indescribable pressure striking him like a heavy hammer. The spiritual fire within him seemed to shrink slightly under the golden light of the amulet, instinctively warning of impending doom.

On the edge of reason, the urge to escape surged violently—just like last time by the Dream Lake, it was an instinctive fear of the absolute unknown and inhuman things.

But based on a lingering sense of reason stemming from a previous conjecture, George did not act.

He regulated his unconscious breathing, endured the pounding of his heart, and forcefully suppressed his instinctive trembling with his will.

Holding the amulet, he stared intently at the dark, humanoid silhouette.

look at each other.

A strange feeling welled up in my heart, and the oppressive feeling seemed to quietly fade away. The two empty eye sockets of the dark figure seemed to have the white light of the moon reflected in the water at night, floating and sinking faintly.

In the eerie atmosphere where deathly silence and buzzing intertwine, time seems to stretch out endlessly.

George could feel the "gaze" cast by the shadowy figure, which felt like it was staring at the accretion disk of a black hole.

I don't know how much time passed, maybe just a moment.

The faint white light floating in those two eye sockets moved upwards a short distance unnaturally, and then fell back down.

George paused for a moment, his mind racing.

Is this gesture imitating a human nod?

Immediately afterwards, the darkness did not approach at all, but slowly raised a vaguely outlined "arm" and pointed in the direction behind it—the direction of the grove of trees on the west side of the island.

After the action was completed, the shadowy figure vanished abruptly, like smoke being blown away by the wind, or more like it was withdrawn from a non-existent dimension.

And at the very moment it disappeared, a strange scene unfolded.

Wherever George's gaze fell—beyond the golden light of the amulet—the dense swarm of flies that had been annoyingly hovering and buzzing seemed to have been collectively stripped of all vitality and basis for existence.

The buzzing sound suddenly disappeared.

They, which were originally flying, fell directly from the sky, landing with a thud on the gravel road, grass, and bushes.

Those that were originally crawling on the leaves and tree trunks suddenly stopped all movement, like empty shells lying stiffly in place.

George stood still and looked around, discovering that within just two or three seconds, all the flies in his field of vision had died.

In the eerie stillness that contrasted with the previous clamor, he walked toward the spot where the shadowy figure had last disappeared.

Something lay quietly in the shallow grass at the edge of the woodland.

A section of dried mistletoe.

Its color was withered and yellow, devoid of any vitality, as if it had been dead for a long time and was one of the many that had fallen from the tree.

George did not pick it up directly.

He took a half step back and activated the power of the Golden Sun Amulet to its maximum.

A golden halo flashed intensely, forming a small yet fiery field around him.

At the same time, he closed his eyes slightly and sank his consciousness into the spirit world.

As the cobalt blue vision unfolds, the withered mistletoe in the material world appears entirely different from the perspective of the spirit world.

Although it is withered in form, the veins of its branches and leaves reveal a crystal-clear quality, reminiscent of a candle lit in a windless place or dewdrops on a lotus leaf.

George brought the amulet closer but didn't sense anything amiss, so he tried to touch it.

Withered Golden Branch

[Sexual characteristics: strings, objects, documents]

Mistletoe, prepared by a revered priest according to Druidic knowledge, is a harmless substance that carries a certain message.

Without any warning signs, George picked up the mistletoe, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and put it in his pocket.

He glanced one last time at the depths of the grove to the west, then turned and quickened his pace back to the mansion.

Upon returning to the mansion, as soon as I passed through the side door and entered the foyer, a male servant hurriedly came to greet me, his expression a complex mix of panic and excitement.

"Master George, there have been a lot of flies suddenly appearing in the mansion!"

George knew things were going badly: "Take me there—"

"Actually, it's already been resolved—by William and Mrs. Hughes," the man said quickly.

He gestured: "William went upstairs and brought over a few 'resonance insect repellents,' and Mrs. Hughes told us to immediately burn vinegar to fumigate the area. We quickly got rid of those flies..."

George breathed a slight sigh of relief, and then a feeling of warmth and approval welled up in his heart.

Elliott's decisiveness and sense of responsibility at the critical moment far exceeded the expectations of a "new believer".

Mrs. Hughes, the usually gentle housekeeper, also demonstrated admirable composure during the crisis.

"Well done." George gave the man a reassuring look. "Please tell them that their reaction was very timely and correct. I will thank them personally later."

The servant bowed with a sigh of relief and hurried away.

George didn't linger; he went straight upstairs to the temporary alchemy room on the third floor.

He closed the door and immediately took out the withered golden branch.

Sinking my consciousness into the card table, the card floated silently, its edge not showing a "use" button like the cards in the book.

However, when George's thoughts tentatively "touch" the item card, a pure message emerges directly, like an impression.

【Heavenly Golden Branch】

[Sexual characteristics: string, candle, recipe]

Druids believe that mistletoe originates from an oak tree struck by lightning, and that this seemingly fragile plant committed a great act of killing against the light. The key to forging this object is to "connect the sky and the earth," and when thrown, it is believed to manifest the light of celestial fire.

Without consuming any resources, the recipe details will unfold.

George discovered that it was probably a kind of "tool" that required gold, sulfur, and mercury to be melted down with mistletoe using a specific alchemy technique, and finally made into an arrow-like object.

George inexplicably thought of the huge oak tree covered in mistletoe that had appeared in his dream last night, and his thoughts raced.

"String", "Candle", "Druid", "Lightning", "Killing".

The shadowy figure left behind a recipe for a lethal weapon. If it's related to his mother... then is it guiding him to where he might need it next?