Young Master System: My Mother Is the Matriarch-Chapter 50 - : Desperate Flight (Part 1)

The air reeked of blood—thick, metallic, clinging to the battlefield's wreckage like a curse. Dismembered limbs and shattered weapons littered the ground, grotesque offerings to the gods of war. The dying had long since exhausted their voices; only the gurgling silence of the slain remained.

Li Wei adjusted his torn sleeve, the dark fabric sodden with crimson. His knuckles ached from the last strike, but the pain was distant, irrelevant. His gaze locked onto the fresh wave of reinforcements spilling from the fractured gate—dozens of cultivators in combat robes, their faces a mix of grim resolve and poorly concealed terror.

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"Another round of fools," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "They send children to halt a storm."

Leng Yue emerged from the shadows behind him, her blade glistening. Her eyes—cold, calculating—swept over the enemy, measuring, dissecting, dismissing. She wiped her sword on a fallen warrior's cloak, leaving streaks of scarlet across the ruined fabric.

"Shall we?" Her voice was a honed edge.

Li Wei cracked his neck, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Don't fall behind."

Without another word, he surged forward like a thunderclap, the earth splintering beneath him.

[Heaven-Quake Strike - Emperor's Descent]

His fist caved in the lead cultivator's chest, shattering bone and rupturing organs in an instant. The man's body hurtled backward, bowling into his comrades like a broken doll. Before they could react, Li Wei was among them, a backhand snapping another warrior's spine mid-charge, sending him crashing into jagged stone.

Two more lunged, weapons blazing with elemental energy. Li Wei twisted, evading twin spear thrusts aimed at his heart.

"I'll take those."

His hands shot out—silver clamps seizing the shafts—and with a brutal wrench, he ripped the weapons free.

"Go back."

A single motion sent both spears plunging through their former masters' throats. Blood arced, painting the dirt in violent crimson.

[Phantom Moon - Silent Execution]

Leng Yue materialized at the heart of the enemy formation, soundless as death. Her blade pierced a swordsman's spine mid-swing. He collapsed, mouth gaping in silent horror.

*"You aren't up to the challenge."*

Before his allies could react, she pivoted, steel slicing through another warrior's midsection. The wet *schlck* of parting flesh sent several stumbling back, their courage unraveling.

*"Stay back!"* A desperate enemy hurled a fireball, its searing blaze cutting through the smoke.

Leng Yue flicked her wrist.

[Moonlit Veil - Cutting Wind Whirlpool]

The fireball shattered mid-flight, embers snuffed like dying stars. The caster barely had time to widen his eyes before her blade punched through his sternum, driving upward into his ribcage.

"Kkh—ah—"

His last breath was a wet gurgle.

Nearby, a grizzled warrior clutched his chest, blood bubbling between his fingers. He turned to a young man—Tao Long—whose own wound wept crimson.

"Tao Long! Run—to the Shen Clan! Tell them... reinforcements..."

"B-but your wound—"

"No time!" the old man barked, voice fraying. "Go! This battle is lost!"

Tao Long hesitated—then wrenched his hands free, feeling hot blood surge from the fatal gash. Jaw clenched, he stumbled back, then ran.

Tao Long's breath came in ragged gasps as he wove through Blue Carp County's market district. Wheelbarrows, caged birds, and shouting vendors blurred past.

"Move!" he roared, shoving through the crowd.

"Who do you think you are?" a jostled bystander spat.

Tao Long ignored him, veering into a narrow alley—only to skid to a halt.

A band of mercenaries lounged ahead, scarred and filthy, their armor dented from a lifetime of blood-for-coin work.

*'No time to backtrack.'*

He forced his shoulders straight, masking the agony in his side, and strode forward, eyes downcast.

A calloused hand slammed onto his shoulder.

"Where're you off to, rabbit?"

Tao Long turned slowly. The thug—a hulking brute with faded battle tattoos—grinned, revealing stained teeth. His comrades circled, blades glinting.

"I'm in a hurry," Tao Long hissed. "Let me pass."

The brute laughed. "Or what?" His grip tightened, fingers digging into flesh.

'They think I'm weak.'

Tao Long's hand crept toward his dagger.

'Good.'

With a sudden twist, he broke free and dropped low, his leg sweeping out. Bone cracked as his kick shattered a thug's shin, sending him howling to the ground.

"GET HIM!"

Steel flashed. Tao Long ducked, feeling a blade whisper past his scalp. He spun, driving an elbow into an attacker's jaw—crack*—then lunged for the alley's end.

A rusted sword stabbed toward his gut. He sidestepped, plunging his dagger into the wielder's side.

"No time for you," he snarled, ripping the blade free.

The remaining mercenaries faltered—just long enough.

Tao Long sprinted, boots pounding behind him. The alley twisted, a labyrinth of filth and shadows. His wound screamed, but he pushed harder.

'Almost there—'

Sunlight beckoned ahead. Safety. Hope.

But the alleys betrayed him—forking, twisting, a maze designed to swallow the desperate.

"Damn it!" he growled, skidding to a halt at a dead end.

The thugs' laughter echoed, closing in.