The Rich Cultivator-Chapter 396. Haunted Village

Tyler and Mana now stood beside a humble hut at the edge of a village. But this wasn’t just any scene—they were witnessing a memory steeped in pain and fury.

The hut was surrounded by a crowd of angry villagers. Faces twisted with rage. Hands gripped rocks, torches, and farming tools. The air was thick with shouts and accusations.

Inside the hut, the Clown’s parents clung to each other, sobbing, pleading with the mob.

"We didn’t do anything! We’re innocent!" the mother screamed, her voice cracking.

"Please! We didn’t kill anyone " the father cried, arms outstretched.

But the villagers were deaf to their desperation.

"Because of your family, so many have died!"

"What kind of monsters raise children like that?!"

"Devil family! Devil family!"

"Burn them! Burn the Devil family!"

Rocks were hurled, striking the door and walls. The fragile wooden frame of the hut groaned under the assault. Someone from the crowd suddenly flung a torch.

The flame arced through the air—and then the thatched roof caught.

Within seconds, the entire hut was engulfed in fire. Smoke curled into the sky, black and suffocating. Screams erupted from inside—raw, desperate, human. The mother’s voice faded into a choking rasp, the father’s into a wail. But no one moved to help. No one tried to stop the fire. The villagers just watched.

Some even cheered.

Far from the hut, hidden behind a row of trees near a ridge, two small figures watched in silence.

The younger boy sobbed uncontrollably, his tiny fists pressed against his mouth.

The older boy — the one they would one day call the Clown — held him tightly, his thin arms shaking. Tears streamed down his face as well, but a twisted smile curled on his lips. He wasn’t smiling because he was happy.

He was smiling because everything had unfolded just as he had foreseen.

And now he knew the truth: his vision of the future worked.

Tyler narrowed his eyes. "He saw this coming. He had a vision."

"He let it happen..." Mana whispered, her voice hollow. "He let his parents die just to test if the future could be changed."

"He wanted to see if it was real," Tyler muttered. "And when it was, he chose to watch instead of warn them."

Yes, the Clown had a vision in which he and his entire family would burn. But instead of warning his parents, he took his brother and left, hiding at a distance to watch and see if the vision would come true.

The memory faded briefly before resuming.

The villagers believed the Undertaker family had been wiped out that day. They buried the ashes. Whispered prayers. Set up warning signs and wards. And for a brief moment, they thought the nightmare was over.

But the deaths didn’t stop.

In fact, they increased.

Where once someone died every week, now a death occurred every three days. Strange, sudden, and inexplicable.

An old farmer tripped and cracked his skull on a rock. A young woman bled out from a wild boar attack in broad daylight. A fisherman drowned in the shallows, his legs tangled in invisible vines.

Whispers spread like wildfire: the Undertaker’s cursed children had returned as spirits. Many even claimed that they saw the undertaker children running around in the village during night.

So the villagers summoned a priest from a neighboring province—a man known for driving out evil spirits and performing powerful cleansing rituals. Though he is not an immortal Practitioner. He arrived with sacred scripts and tools, confident and composed.

He examined the land, walked the graveyards, and declared the village tainted with resentment.

"The souls of the Undertaker family linger here," he said. "This land is cursed with the weight of injustice."

He promised to create talismans, powerful ones, to protect the homes.

But the next morning, he was found hanging on the metal jackfruit tree . A talisman was nailed to his chest, defiled with blood.

That incident broke the village’s spirit.

Panic swept through the homes. Many packed their bags and left immediately. Others lingered, trapped by poverty or pride. But all knew: they were no longer safe.

And watching it all were Tyler and Mana, silent observers within the Clown’s haunting memory.

"After his parents died, the Clown took revenge on the entire village," Mana whispered.

"But is it really revenge?" Tyler wondered.

The scenery shifted once more.

They saw the Clown and his younger brother, now slightly older, hidden near the village outskirts, watching as more people died by their hands. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

But eventually... the Clown grew bored.

The thrill of killing villagers wore off. The fire inside him didn’t burn as brightly anymore.

So, he left.

He took his brother and slipped away from the ruined village in the dead of night. The two of them snuck onto a cargo wagon, then a traveling caravan, and eventually—onto a ship.

A pirate ship.

"The only reason he escaped that day," Tyler muttered, "was because of his vision. He saw the fire, saw his death... and avoided it."

"He didn’t tell his parents. He just left them to burn," Mana said, her voice laced with disgust.

"He was curious," Tyler replied, his tone flat. "He wanted to know if fate was fixed—or if it could be changed. When he saw that he could shape it, it twisted him further."

The two siblings huddled together on the deck of the pirate ship. The Clown was staring at the horizon, wind in his messy hair, eyes unreadable. The younger brother was sleeping beside him, clinging to his arm.

And so began a new Chapter in their lives.

No longer sons of an undertaker.

Now drifters in a world.

Eventually, the two boys were discovered hiding aboard the pirate ship. Surprisingly, the pirates didn’t throw them overboard. Instead, they kept the children as laborers. The Clown and his younger brother toiled day and night—cleaning decks, hauling supplies, and scrubbing the filth from the ship—for nothing more than scraps of food and a place to sleep on the cold wooden floor.

Despite the harsh conditions, the pirate ship became the first real gateway for them into the world of cultivation. Some of the crew practiced low-level martial and mystical arts, and in their off-hours, the curious brothers would spy on training sessions. Occasionally, a pirate would be drunk enough—or kind enough—to show them a few techniques or explain concepts about Aura resonance and Prana Methods.

Years passed.

By the time the Clown and his brother reached adolescence, they had already long since left the pirate ship. The decision wasn’t random. The Clown had another one of his strange visions—a prophetic dream where the very same pirate ship they’d called home was annihilated by a Federation battleship.

Trusting his vision, he convinced his brother to flee with him, and only days after their escape, the vision came true. The ship was sunk in a devastating encounter. Not a single crew member survived.

Afterward, the brothers settled on some group of modest islands. There, they lived simple lives. The Clown—ironically—became a real clown, working at a local traveling circus.

Though many laughed at his act, no one knew the man behind the makeup was learning more than just juggling and tricks. In his spare time, he began studying arrays, obsessing over their mechanics and intricacies with a kind of manic devotion.

His brother, on the other hand, followed a different path. Gifted in immortal Practice, he quickly rose in strength and became a sought-after bodyguard. His current job involved protecting a noble young lady—an aloof but graceful girl with a mysterious background.

One day, the brother introduced her to the Clown. He had fallen for her and claimed to be in love. But there was a problem—her father, a strict and powerful nobleman, forbade their relationship. Desperate and determined, the brother turned to the Clown for help.

The Clown knew someone. A shady alchemist known for forging false identities and smuggling people off the island under the noses of the authorities. The man was planning to leave the island soon, so the Clown arranged everything. He, his brother, and the young noble lady escaped together with the help of the alchemist.

"That guy was Dr. Juggler," Tyler muttered as he watched the memory unfold. "... probably changed his name into Juggler later."

The escape was swift and quiet. With the help of Dr. Juggler, the shady alchemist, the trio boarded a smuggling vessel under the cover of darkness. Dr. Juggler is also traveling in the same ship.

It wasn’t a grand ship by any means—old, creaky, and reeking of alchemical fumes—but it served its purpose. As the ship sailed away from the island, leaving the noble family and its threats behind, a strange sense of freedom filled the air.

Inside one of the cramped cabins, the Clown’s younger brother and the young miss finally let down their guard. The adrenaline of escape, the thrill of defying a powerful father, and the sheer relief of being together had boiled into something more.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, their hands trembling with emotion and hunger. The small bed creaked under their shifting bodies as they gave in to the intimacy.

Moans resonated.

Unbeknownst to the couple, a small toy clown sat innocently on a dusty shelf in the corner of the room. Its painted smile was faded, one glassy eye chipped.

Except... the eyes were not lifeless.

Behind those beady glass eyes,

someone is watching.