The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

Upon hearing George's words, a hint of surprise flashed in Ms. Celsa's eyes.

"Edinburgh University School of Medicine?" she repeated.

George calmly added, "He graduated in 1855, studying under Professor James Cullen, specializing in psychiatry and physiology."

Ms. Celsa adjusted her posture slightly, placing her fingers interlaced on her knees, her gaze shifting from scrutiny to interest.

"No wonder you were so quick to judge the spread of the disease. Medical training certainly brings a unique perspective to this field."

"Your reaction was quick too," George continued, "your judgment on the transmission route of the disease, especially the speculation of 'gender-biased infection'—these are not conclusions that can be drawn from ordinary epidemiological training."

Celsa's lips curled into a slight smile: "This is the path I've chosen."

"So, do you have any ideas about the transmission routes of the disease?" She leaned forward.

George shared some of his previous thoughts, and the conversation between the two naturally shifted to a deeper professional exchange.

Ms. Celsa demonstrated profound knowledge in internal medicine, surgery, pathogenesis, and even pharmacology.

Her familiarity with humoral theory, the different stages of infectious fever symptoms, and the contraindications of various herbal combinations far exceeded George's expectations of a "High Court representative."

Intentionally or unintentionally, the two avoided discussing the source of the "Lord of the Flies'" power—that suggestive term hovered on the edge of the conversation, yet neither of them touched upon it.

"Based on the current timeline of symptom development, it resembles acute scarlet fever, but it may involve some factors beneath the skin."

George frankly admitted, "The effectiveness of conventional drugs against this specific, unpredictable infection is uncertain, so I had to try some alchemical approaches."

"Alchemy?" A glint flashed in Celsa's eyes. "You mean those potions you just mentioned?"

"Indeed, as you may know, our family is skilled in alchemy, and this treatment has indeed been effective," George replied cautiously.

Celsa closed her notebook and nodded.

"Your Excellency De Lapol, you have done very well." Her tone now carried a greater degree of respect.

"The ability to react so rationally to an attack from an unknown source, instead of reporting it directly to the anti-crime agency or the church, and to bring the situation under control, is quite rare among contemporary researchers of the supernatural."

"Thank you for your recognition. I just happened to have some knowledge of the evil of the 'Lord of the Flies,' so I took preventative measures during the short incubation period."

George declined to comment further before continuing his story.

"As expected, the symptoms of those who first came into contact with the source of the disease appeared almost simultaneously. This suggests that it was not simply airborne transmission, but rather that some form of 'media contact' was required."

"The source of the disease? Have you identified the source yet?"

"Didn't you just come from the west side of the island? That's it—we're planning to remove it tomorrow."

"Hmm, that makes sense. If that's the case, being able to capture live organisms for research would be of great help in understanding the propagation mechanism and finding a complete solution."

George nodded in agreement with Ms. Celsa's opinion.

"That's what I think too."

“Then,” Celsa stood up, picked up her mask and cane again, “please make sure I go to the woods with you first thing tomorrow morning. Firsthand observation is far more valuable than any indirect report.”

"Are you sure?" George was slightly surprised. "That's a dangerous area, and given your identity—"

"My identity grants me the authority to make independent assessments," Celsa said with considerable confidence. "Moreover, I have the power to protect myself. In fact... no one in the entire kingdom is more 'appropriate' in this regard than I am."

"Understood. I'll arrange a team tomorrow. In addition to the two of us, there will be Inspector Douglas and Lieutenant Bates from the Counter-Strike Force—they've already been involved in the preliminary investigation." George finally nodded.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do. I hope your teammates are as reliable as you are."

After the matter was temporarily settled, George wanted to arrange for Ms. Celsa to rest in a guest room on the second floor of the mansion, but she objected.

"Why didn't you let me observe the infected before I went to hunt down the monster? It's always necessary to be prepared..."

After much persuasion and even invoking the authority of the mansion's owner, George finally convinced her, though it was clear that this strong-willed woman was not convinced.

But George was worried about the woman going to the north quarantine area alone in that outfit, and sending someone with her would affect the efficiency of the manhunt for Frederick tomorrow.

After seeing Celsa off, George went to the reception room on the first floor.

Inspector Douglas and Lieutenant Bates were drinking whiskey in their armchairs when George entered, and the inspector asked him a question.

"How is Ms. Celsa doing?"

George briefly explained his conversation with Ms. Celsa, omitting overly technical medical details and emphasizing her professional background and the plan to travel together the next day.

"As for why she went to the island alone at night, she didn't say and I didn't ask."

The inspector shrugged.

"Things about High Court are always so bad. She's more pragmatic than I thought, at least she's not here to cause trouble."

He rubbed his temples: "I need to get a good rest tonight; tomorrow will probably be a tough battle."

He shuffled upstairs. Lieutenant Bates raised his glass in a toast, looking much better than the inspector.

"A woman with a medical background sounds like someone you can relate to." He put down his drink. "How does that woman seem to be doing?"

"A scholar's temperament, but he dared to go to the woods to the west at night alone and come out unscathed." George sat down opposite Bates. "You can't see anything from a spiritual perspective."

Bates nodded: "Sounds like a mysterious but reliable assistant."

George took the sword from his waist, walked over to Bates, and handed it to him.

"This is..." Bates asked, puzzled.

"A perfect, extraordinary tool, given to me by my father," George said.

Bates carefully picked up the dagger and drew it from its sheath, feeling its weight and balance.

"The weight is just right, the balance is perfect, like a Roman cavalry sword," he commented, then looked at George.

"What are you planning to do—"

"I'm handing it over to you. You're an awakened one of the 'Hunter' principles, and you have more experience in combat than I do," George said directly.

"And I," he pointed to himself, "have other means."

Bates looked at the sword in his hand and nodded solemnly: "Understood."

The two then discussed in hushed tones the specific details of their operation the next morning: how to enter the woods, possible traps, the monsters' attack patterns...

And so they continued their lively discussion until they had roughly decided on what to bring and several possible solutions before parting ways.

George, unable to sleep, went to the servants' quarters and found the servant on duty to begin preparing supplies.