The Rich Cultivator-Chapter 405. Torture

Tyler tried to run.

But before he could take another step, the sky above him bled crimson.

The world around him warped, vanishing into a sea of red mist and silence. The trees, rubble, and even the distant sounds of fire and screams—all gone.

"Domain... huh..." Tyler muttered under his breath.

His hand instinctively tapped the side of his watch, activating his portable Waypoint Terminal. One press, and he’d be out. He could escape any time—but not without finishing this.

He couldn’t let the Clown live.

If he let a maniac like the Clown live and went further into the Northern Seas, it would only be a matter of time before the madman would come hunting him—and worse, his crew.

He needed to end it now.

With a deep breath, Tyler activated his own Domain.

The two Domains clashed for a moment—his logical and ordered, the Clown’s chaotic and deranged—but soon, Tyler’s influence manifested below: a large chessboard spread across the cracked ground, a familiar structure of strategy and rules.

He looked up.

The Clown’s Domain was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It resembled a circus—but stripped of joy and laughter. There were no vibrant colors or playful music, only a blood-drenched arena with a red sky looming overhead. The tent poles were bones, and the laughter echoing in the air was twisted, broken.

Then came the first attack.

A giant wooden Trojan horse materialized from the mist, its hooves thundering as it charged straight toward him.

"Chariot," Tyler whispered, and with a flash, he moved horizontally across the board, dodging just in time.

But there was no time to rest.

From the other side, a monstrous Ferris wheel spun toward him. It didn’t have compartments or seats—only rotating blades, sharp and gleaming like guillotine edges.

It was faster than the horse. Tyler braced for impact.

The wheel slammed into him—only for his body to explode into shards of ice.

The real Tyler reappeared crouching behind a nearby cupboard, hidden in the shadows. He clenched his fists, breathing quietly.

"You can run... but you can’t hide," came the Clown’s voice, echoing from all directions. It sounded closer this time—almost gleeful.

Then, in an instant, Tyler found himself inside the cupboard.

His surroundings shifted without warning.

The doors slammed shut.

A buzzing sound grew louder as the Clown approached, dragging a long, rusty saw.

Tyler tried to escape again—but it didn’t work instantly.

The saw screeched through the wood, slicing the cupboard in two.

The Clown lifted the top half to reveal—

Shattered ice.

"Damn... this annoying ability," the Clown muttered, throwing the saw aside.

Far away, Tyler reappeared in another corner of the domain, crouched and clutching his stomach.

His breathing was ragged. His eyes filled with pain.

Even though he had used his ice escape art, he hadn’t managed to escape the moment the saw struck. The pain had still hit him—like being torn in half.

His whole body trembled.

"Hahahaha... You won’t die in my Domain," the Clown’s voice whispered again, "but you’ll feel every... single... pain."

Suddenly, the ground beneath Tyler gave way.

He plummeted into a rectangular pit.

Before he could react, a massive metal press descended from above—like a trapdoor from hell.

He couldn’t fly immediately and got trapped. Everything happened in a blink of an eye.

The press crushed him.

The Clown skipped gleefully to the edge, humming a carnival tune. He removed the press and looked below.

All he found was shattered ice.

Meanwhile, Tyler lay hidden under a pile of rubble. His body twitched uncontrollably.

The pain hadn’t faded.

His muscles spasmed. Every cell in his body felt like it had been torn apart and sewn back together with fire.

He opened his eyes.

Hovering above him—another threat.

A giant stone pillar floated in midair. It pulsed with energy. Then, without warning, it dropped.

"Chariot!" Tyler shouted, using his domain’s rule-based movement to sidestep it at the last second.

But just as he steadied himself, a second pillar slammed toward him from the side.

Boom.

The world exploded in dust and stone.

The rubble shifted.

A figure slowly rose, shaking off debris.

Tyler stood up, his entire body now covered in glowing crimson scales.

He had activated Mode Dragon at the very last second.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" the Clown cackled from everywhere at once. "This is just the beginning. I’m not gonna kill ya... not yet. I’m just gonna hurt ya... really, really bad."

A razor-sharp card—bladed at the edges—came flying out of nowhere.

It stabbed straight into Tyler’s chest.

So fast. So precise.

Tyler’s eyes widened in shock.

Smoke rose in the distance.

Through the haze walked a tall, elegant figure—another version of the Clown. He shuffled his deck slowly, smiling.

Tyler gritted his teeth.

Then, with a shimmer, his body turned to ice and shattered.

The real Tyler was already somewhere else—sitting low against a pile of rubble, breathing heavily.

He winced, looking down.

A deep cut slashed across his chest. It hadn’t vanished.

"So... his Domain’s attacks won’t kill me. Won’t even leave lasting wounds," Tyler muttered through clenched teeth. "But his cards... they’re different."

He pulled a small tube from his coat. The label read: Mender – made by Mathilda.

Tyler scoffed. "Our alchemist really has a terrible naming sense."

He uncapped it and poured the fine powder onto his wound.

It fizzed and bubbled. He grunted in pain as the powder burned against his skin.

Then it began to itch.

But a moment later, the cut sealed itself, the skin stitching back together rapidly.

Tyler exhaled. "Alright, you psycho... round two."

He tightened his grip on the Abyssal Trident, its shaft pulsing with eerie, crackling energy from the Abyss.

The Giant Wheel returned, screeching across the sky like a spinning death trap.

Without hesitation, Tyler hurled the Trident.

It didn’t leave his hand.

Instead, a projection—a spectral spear of pure Abyssal energy—shot forward and impaled the Giant Wheel mid-spin. The massive construct twisted and bent unnaturally, gears sparking and shrieking before collapsing into a pile of mangled iron.

He turned just in time to see a Trojan horse again galloping toward him, thr clown perched on its back like a twisted general.

This time, Tyler threw the real Trident.

The weapon pierced through the wooden horse and skewered the clown atop it—only for the body to deflate with a hiss. It was just an oversized doll.

Then came another pillar, crashing down from the sky like a judgment from above.

Tyler reached out and made a grabbing motion toward the empty space in front of him.

The world blurred for a moment—his vision swam, his mind teetered.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he stood beside his embedded Trident, hand already gripping its handle.

"Fudge... this ability is too dangerous," Tyler muttered through gritted teeth.

This was one of the new abilities the Trident gained after being baptized in the Abyss. It allowed the wielder to instantly teleport to the Trident’s current location after throwing it. But it has drawback. It consumed an enormous amount of mental energy.

He swayed on his feet, head pounding, the edges of his vision darkening.

His spiritual consciousness was nearly depleted.

Desperately, he pulled a small bottle "Mathilda’s Sparkling Water – Totes Not Sus" was scribbled on the label in sparkly ink.

He popped the cap and chugged it.

The refreshing liquid coursed through him like lightning. Within seconds, clarity returned, and his mind buzzed with revitalized energy.

Before he could react further, the ground shifted beneath his feet.

Now he was riding a unicycle.

Balanced precariously on a thin rope.

Below him? A bed of razor-sharp thorns, glinting like teeth in the crimson light. On the far side of the rope—his Trident.

He couldn’t fly. Couldn’t jump. Couldn’t use his hands. Only his legs were free to pedal.

Across the gap stood the Clown, giggling madly beside the Trident.

"HAHAHA! Come now, Tyler," the Clown mocked. "If you want your toy back, ride fast! Or enjoy being skewered like a roasted pig!"

Tyler stared him down but didn’t move. The unicycle wobbled dangerously on the narrow rope.

"Oh? Frozen in fear?" The Clown tilted his head, then grinned. "Let’s make it interesting... Countdown time!"

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"

Tyler remained perfectly still, eyes half-lidded, focused.

"Four! Three! HAHAHA! What’s wrong? Paralyzed by despair?"

"Two!"

Tyler’s foot twitched.

"One! Time’s up—"

"Chariot," Tyler whispered.

In a flash, the unicycle shot forward like a bolt on a track. The rope blurred beneath him.

Before the Clown could blink, Tyler launched off the end of the platform.

The unicycle vanished, and his hand closed around the Abyssal Trident in midair.

He twisted his body and slashed.

The Clown barely had time to react as the glowing edge of the weapon collided with his chest.

He was launched backward, laughing maniacally as he crashed into a floating wall of mirrors.

"HAHAHAHA!"

Then the platform beneath Tyler vanished.

He plummeted.

Right into the field of thorns.

"FUCCCCC—"

Pain exploded across his body.