Young Master System: My Mother Is the Matriarch-Chapter 194 - 193: Blood Sovereign

Night crept over the frontier like a wolf stalking sheep as a thin fog drifted between the jagged pine trees of the borderlands, swallowing moonlight and muting sound. Yet even through the haze, one could see shapes moving and shadows shifting, metal boots grinding the frost-crusted soil.

Li Wuji rode at the head of the column, cloak trailing like a black banner through the night. His gaze swept the valley below. Fires dotted the darkness, totaling eight camps scattered along the ravine. The largest of them lit by bonfires and laughter crude enough to curdle milk.

Bandits, mercenaries and Runaways who had carved out their tiny empires while the Northern Territories tore itself apart.

They had taken villages, pillaged caravan and kidnapped children.

And worst of all, they had violated his land.

Behind Li Wuji, a hundred Blood Lotus veterans waited in silence, their breaths clouding in the frigid air. Their loyalty was cracked and trembling after the cult's downfall, but fear bound them as tightly as rope.

Tonight, Li Wuji intended to tighten that rope until it cut bone.

He lifted his hand.

The column halted at once.

A younger officer rode up, voice trembling. "Commander… if we strike all eight camps at once, our forces may thin—"

"They will not thin," Li Wuji replied. His voice was cold enough to freeze the fog. "They will continue to resist...."

He pointed his spear toward the valley ridge.

"The more they run, the more they bleed. The more they bleed, the easier they fall. Eight camps or eighty—it makes no difference. We claim this ravine by dawn."

"But commander—"

Li Wuji turned his head slowly.

The officer swallowed whatever argument he had left.

Wuji's gaze swept skyward briefly. To the casual eye, he looked serene. But inside him, a furnace roared. Rage stoked by humiliation—his cult fragmented, his followers scattered, his legacy shaken by defeat after defeat.

Li Wei. Leng Yue. Yuan Yi. Every name a wound.

He inhaled once through the nose.

No. He would not think of them.

Not tonight.

Tonight belonged to iron and blood.

He lowered his hand.

"Advance."

The first camp never saw them coming.

Wuji descended the slope in a streak of black and scarlet. His spear tore through the fog, tip glowing faintly with the killing art he had practiced since adolescence.

A guard barely had time to gasp.

Li Wuji's spear struck his chest with a sound like splitting wood.

The man flew backward, crashing through a stack of crates before slumping silently to the dirt.

Inside the camp, bandits jolted awake as their torches flickered.

"What—?"

"Who goes there?!"

"Spread out—gods damn it, spread out!"

Wuji landed among them like a falling star. His spear swept in a low arc—three men fell at once, one clutching his throat, another his stomach, the third his face mangled where iron had carved bone.

The others froze.

Someone whispered, voice quivering, "I-It's him… the Crimson Spear Devil…"

A shout rose from the far side of camp.

"RUN!"

Too late.

Li Wuji's foot stamped the dirt—

CRACK.

A shockwave rippled outward, toppling tents and hurling bandits against each other like discarded dolls.

His voice rolled across the camp like thunder:

"You raid my lands."

He strode forward, spear dripping.

"You take what is not yours."

More bandits scrambled to their feet, swearing, grabbing whatever weapons lay within reach.

Wuji's eyes narrowed.

"You breathe air I did not allow."

He vanished.

A blur.

A streak of shadow and steel.

Wherever he passed, men fell—throats open, spines severed, limbs torn from sockets by pure force. His spear did not merely pierce; it devoured. A red mist blossomed in the fog, staining it crimson.

The bandit captain—a burly man with an ox-horn helmet and a scar across his cheek—charged him with a great hammer.

"You bastard—!"

Li Wuji parried the hammer with the butt of his spear, redirecting the blow with effortless contempt. He stepped inside the man's guard and drove his knee upward.

Ribs cracked.

The captain choked, mouth wide.

"W…wait—!" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Wuji thrust his spear through the man's gut, pinning him to the ground like a nailed insect.

He leaned closer, voice quiet.

"Did you listen when the villagers begged?"

The man trembled violently.

Wuji ripped the spear free.

The captain's scream was swallowed by the fog.

Minutes later, the camp fell silent except for the crackle of burning tents.

Li Wuji twirled his spear once, flinging blood into the dirt.

"One down," he murmured.

He looked toward the next set of flames deeper in the valley.

"Seven to go."

The second and third camps fell faster than the first.

By the fourth, the bandits had finally realized what hunted them.

A scout rushed into the makeshift command tent, panting so hard he nearly collapsed.

"H-he's here—! He's coming up the ridge! General, we must—"

An arrow pierced the scout's neck.

He dropped without finishing the sentence.

The bandit general—a tall woman, sinewy and hard-eyed—lowered her bow slowly.

A low wind blew across the ridge.

Then a voice rolled through the darkness:

"So. You knew I was coming."

Wuji stepped through the fog, spear glinting faintly. He walked without hurry, as though the night belonged to him.

The general's eyes narrowed. "Men! Spread out! Do NOT engage alone!"

A dozen archers appeared along the ridge, bows drawn.

Li Wuji stopped.

His spear lowered.

The general drew breath to shout—

But the fog moved.

Literally moved.

A swirl of shadows coiled behind Wuji, twisting into a vortex. Then—

BOOM.

A blast of wind erupted outward. The archers stumbled, arrows scattering wildly as the fog dissolved around them.

By the time they regained balance, Wuji was among them.

One spear thrust.

Two.

Three.

Each strike dropped a man, as precise as a butcher carving meat.

The general roared and drove her blade toward his ribs.

Wuji blocked with his forearm, ignoring the shallow cut. Spinning, he swept her legs, then brought his elbow crashing into her collarbone.

She gasped, weapon falling from numb fingers.

"Do you know my name?" Wuji asked.

The woman spat. "A tyrant's cur! A madman!"

Li Wuji smiled faintly.

"I prefer 'conqueror'."

His spear punched through her chest.

When he pulled it free, she slumped forward, dead before hitting the ground.

"Four."

The fifth camp had done something no bandit in the ravine had dared do in years—they lit crimson smoke above their tents.

It was a challenge.

A declaration.

Come if you dare.

Li Wuji stepped into the clearing without hesitation.

War drums thundered. Rows of fighters—over a hundred—stood shoulder to shoulder behind a barricade of stolen shields.

The leader, an enormous man clad in mismatched armor, slammed his axe against his shield.

"Blood Lotus traitor!" he roared. "You dare step into my territory?!"

Wuji tilted his head.

"Territory?" he echoed. "This mud pit?"

The giant snarled. "Kill him!"

The ground shook as the bandits charged.

It would have overwhelmed any other cultivator.

But Li Wuji was not just another cultivator.

He raised his hand.

Scarlet qi spiraled around his arm like a coiling serpent.

"Blood Lotus—Fourth Movement."

The ground split under his feet.

"Crimson Bloom."

A burst of red radiance tore outward. Soldiers in the front ranks screamed as their skin split, blood erupting in geysers that wilted their momentum. Those behind tripped on the bodies of their own allies.

The giant barreled forward, axe swinging in a brutal arc.

Wuji ducked beneath the swing and slammed his palm into the man's chest.

The giant staggered back—then roared, veins bulging, and charged again.

"Again," Wuji said softly.

He caught the man's wrist, twisted sharply, and dislocated the elbow with a sickening crunch. The giant howled.

Wuji jammed the spear upward, piercing under the ribcage.

The big man's mouth opened in a silent scream.

Wuji tightened his grip.

"Die with your eyes open."

He tore the spear upward.

The giant fell in two pieces.

The rest broke instantly.

But Li Wuji did not allow any to flee.

He hunted them through the camp with a silent, relentless stride—cutting down every survivor without slowing, without blinking, without the slightest flicker of mercy.

When the last man fell, the flames from the burning tents illuminated Wuji's expression.

Calm.

Almost peaceful.

He wiped the spearhead clean against a fallen banner.

"Five."

The sixth and seventh camps were weaker and offered little resistance beyond a few desperate swings of rusty weapons. Wuji did not linger. He moved through them like a shadow trimmed in scarlet light, leaving bodies where they fell and stepping back into the night.

By the time he reached the eighth camp, dawn tinged the sky with faded violet.

The largest fire yet burned at the center of the clearing.

And over fifty armored fighters formed a disciplined formation—shields locked, spears angled forward.

Li Wuji slowed.

His breath thickened with steam.

The men before him were not simple bandits.

These were deserters

Former soldiers and veterans who knew how to stand their ground.

Their commander stepped forward—an older man with a crooked back and a sword strapped to his waist. His hair was white, his gaze sharp.

"Li Wuji," he said quietly. "I heard rumors. I prayed they were lies."

Wuji raised his head. "Prayers are wasted on this land."

The old commander tightened his jaw.