The Rich Cultivator-Chapter 380. The Calm before the Tent

Night draped the island in silence.

A dim lantern flickered outside the wooden walls of the inn, casting soft golden hues through the window slats. Inside, the room was filled with the gentle rhythm of breathing and the muffled rustle of sheets stirred by the breeze.

Tyler White, completely naked, lay in a wide bed, sound asleep. On his side was Naked Alna, her face flushed, her chest rising and falling peacefully as she nestled into Tyler’s arm. On the other side of Alna, Mathilda lay sprawled with her leg draped over Alna’s thigh, her usual playful smirk absent in the tranquility of slumber.

Alna is basically got sandwiched by Both Tyler and Mathilda.

The room smelled faintly of lavender soap, wine, and sweat—an aftermath of indulgent intimacy.

For a man like Tyler—handsome, confident, and radiating a calm but dangerous charm—drawing a girl like Alna into his bed hadn’t been difficult. One evening of clever words, lingering touches, and suggestive glances had been more than enough.

Alna was also not unwilling. She was also succumbed easily.

Mathilda, ever the wildcard, had decided to join in "for fun," claiming she wanted to taste the Guide Girl and didn’t want Tyler to have too much fun without her.

Whatever their reasons, none of them seemed to regret the choice now.

Outside, however, the stillness held a hidden tension.

In the alley behind the inn, shadows shifted.

A group of four figures, dressed in patchy cloaks and decorated with vibrant but sinister face paint, lingered under the dim light. They all bore identical tattoos on their arms: a grinning clown mask, etched with wild lines and smeared ink.

They spoke in hushed voices, eyes darting toward the inn’s windows.

"Should we do it now?" one of them whispered, a dagger glinting under his sleeve.

Another scoffed. "You forget our mission?"

The first man sighed and looked to his other teammates.

Their leader, a tall man with rings piercing his lips and a wide-brimmed hat, crossed his arms and answered in a gravelly voice. "The Ringmaster gave a direct order. We’re to locate and retrieve the mini tarantula that escaped the Colorful Forest. The damn thing’s not supposed to leave the forest perimeter. If it’s still loose in town, it’ll draw too much attention."

"What about the girls?" another asked, licking his lips. "Dr. Juggler said he wanted those merchant girls."

"We handle the Ringmaster’s orders first," the leader growled. "Dr. Juggler can play with his toys later. Priorities."

With that, the group dispersed into the shadows, disappearing into the night in search of the escaped creature.

The inn remained silent.

Back in the room, the soft creak of the wooden floor signaled a quiet stirring.

Mana phased out from Tyler’s chest, yawning as she materialized mid-air before floating gently down to the floor. She rubbed her eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep.

"Hm?" she mumbled as she turned her head.

Then she froze.

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight before her—Tyler, naked and sleeping with two naked women. Alna had her head resting on Tyler’s chest, a satisfied smile on her lips, while Mathilda looked like she was drooling in her sleep, still hugging Alna like a giant pillow.

Mana’s expression twitched.

She blinked again, her eyes narrowed into thin lines of mild judgment. "Tch. Perverts," she muttered under her breath.

"Hmph... They didn’t even invite me. Next time, I should not cut my perception of outside world." She muttered to herself.

She didn’t comment further. Instead, she casually phased through the wall and exited the room as if nothing had happened, leaving the trio undisturbed.

Moments later, morning light began to filter through the shutters.

Tyler slowly opened his eyes. While it was true that Grandmasters no longer needed sleep to replenish energy like mortals, last night had been full of intimacy and the exchange of different postures and funs . Besides, many Immortal Practitioners still enjoyed sleep—it was a lingering habit from their mortal days, a comfort that followed them through the ages.

Then he felt soft weights pressing into both sides of his body. He turned his head and smiled at the view.

"Morning already?" he muttered, his voice raspy.

Alna responded with a soft hum, snuggling closer. Mathilda just let out a snort and pulled the sheets tighter around her.

┉┈ ◈ ◉ ◈ ┈┉.

A few hours later, Alna led Tyler and the others toward the most infamous structure on the island.

Fun Streak Island was shaped like a twin-clover, two massive leaf-shaped landmasses connected at their stems. The southern clover leaf was lively and bright—a bustling district filled with shops, street performers, music, and strange food carts selling floating pastries and smoking drinks. The northern clover leaf, however, has the Colourfull Forest. At the very center of it all stood a singular, monstrous structure: The Tent.

Tyler and the girls followed Alna through the winding streets, their pace casual but eyes alert. Above them, colorful streamers danced in the wind, suspended from invisible enchantments. The road ahead curved gently toward a platform—an open plaza where dozens of floating aerostats waited for passengers.

These weren’t ordinary hot air balloons.

Each aerostat was a strange contraption made of levitating arrays and magical ropes, with baskets designed to mimic carriages or even miniature boats. Above the baskets floated enormous, whimsical balloons—some shaped like animal heads, some like spinning tops, and others as simple as colorful spheres.

Tyler glanced around and pointed to one covered in hundreds of tiny, multicolored balloons tied tightly around the basket, making it look like a flying bouquet. "That one. Let’s go with the most ridiculous-looking one," he said with a grin.

The aerostat creaked slightly under their weight, then settled. An array glowed faintly beneath their feet—a control sigil that responded to divine sense. Alna channeled a sliver of her power into the array, and the balloon gently lifted off the ground, rising smoothly into the air like a soap bubble catching the breeze.

The city unfolded beneath them like a painting in motion. Colorful rooftops, enchanted fountains, floating performers juggling fire, merchants shouting over enchanted loudspeakers—it was a chaotic but enchanting panorama.

"There it is," Alna said quietly, nodding toward the north.

The moment their balloon crested over the dividing waters between the two clover leaves, the atmosphere changed. The sky here seemed just a shade darker. But everything is still colourfull. The buildings fewer. Trees grew taller, with trunks twisted unnaturally, branches arching like skeletal fingers. And in the middle of it all... rose The Tent.

To the untrained eye, it was beautiful.

The Tent was enormous—easily as wide as a castle and taller than most towers. Its fabric shimmered under the dying sunlight, a mesmerizing mix of crimson, gold, violet, and deep blue. The stripes swirled toward a pointed peak topped with a spire, and dozens of flags danced from its ridges. Jesters, animals, balloons, smiling faces—all sewn or enchanted into motion on the flags, drawing the eyes of curious travelers.

On the Top of all those, Flapping in the wind was a flag bearing the image of a grinning skull wearing a clown hat.

The entrance to the Tent was a grand archway in the shape of a laughing clown’s mouth. Two towering statues of jesters stood on either side, arms spread as if to welcome all guests. Their faces were locked in perpetual mirth, but something about the exaggerated smiles and wide, empty eyes sent a chill through Tyler.

"Now that’s... unsettling," Mana murmured, gripping the edge of the basket.

Above the entrance, a massive banner waved in the breeze. It depicted a clown skull—grinning ear to ear—wearing a polka-dotted jester hat. Its hollow eyes seemed to follow them as they approached.

"No wonder it’s just called The Tent," Tyler muttered. "It really is a tent... but the size of a damned fortress."

Alna’s expression had shifted. She looked nervous now, and her voice was lower when she responded. "We’re allowed in, but only on the lower floor. The main areas are open to the public during daylight hours. Shops, illusion shows, beast tamers, that sort of thing."

"And the upper levels?" Tyler asked.

Alna hesitated, then answered, "Restricted. For performers and Circus Group members only. Also Audiences only when they allow it."

Tyler narrowed his eyes but didn’t press. "Well, let’s at least see what’s open."

With a gentle nudge of divine sense, Alna guided the balloon downward. The air grew colder as they descended toward the base of the Tent. From here, they could see more details—like the fact that the fabric of the Tent wasn’t made from cloth at all. It was some kind of organic material, pulsing faintly with light. Magical arrays were stitched into its seams, glowing periodically in different patterns, as if alive.

The plaza outside the Tent bustled with activity. Street performers juggled flaming torches while riding unicycles. Musicians played odd, whimsical instruments that gave off sounds like laughter and weeping.

These people are actually forced to do it. They don’t even have control of their bodies.

The basket touched the ground with a soft bump, and Tyler stepped off first, scanning the area.

"Stay close," he said to the others.

They stepped through the giant mouth of the clown entrance.