The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 210: Chapter 210 - Training to be a warrior

Nansich happily hugged the dainty sword close to his chest, grinning from ear to ear. ”So I’m a half-alien... sweet!” he declared, spinning once with giddy joy before stopping to blink at the three tall Farians standing nearby.

But then, slowly, a doubtful frown crept onto his face.

”Umm...” he started cautiously, ”...I wanna ask something. Are there any other alien types on Earth right now? Like... not you guys or the graylings?” His brows furrowed deeply. ”Because... I think I’ve seen another one.”

Eren, ever curious, walked up and cheerfully slung an arm around his shoulder. ”Half-alien boy, as of now—it’s just us and those octopus freaks.” He pointed casually to the grayling corpses still scattered across the ground, some of them twitching slightly in their final spasms.

Nansich wrinkled his nose at the sight. ”Ugh, gross,” he muttered. Then, as if remembering something, his eyes suddenly lit up with recognition. ”Wait, no! I have met another alien before! Back on the farm... I helped rescue this guy. He looked human—almost too human—but he had this weird crystal stuck in his forehead. It was glowing red too.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Eren’s cheerful smile froze mid-expression. His arm dropped from Nansich’s shoulder.

He turned slowly to Xing Yu with a sharp glance, while Varon narrowed his eyes.

Xing Yu took a single step forward, gaze serious. ”Was the crystal red?” he asked flatly, tone sharper than before.

Nansich blinked and nodded. ”Yeah. Like a ruby. Glowed real pretty in the dark. Do you guys know his kind too?”

Xing Yu’s lips tightened into a thin line. ”I guess... you’ve met Prince Dican,” he said with a heavy voice.

Nansich’s jaw dropped. ”Wait—prince?”

Xing Yu nodded, folding his arms. ”Those born into the royal Farian bloodline have a soul crystal embedded into their forehead. The color and glow vary depending on power and purity. Red... is one of the rarest and most dangerous types.”

Nansich’s eyes were wide. ”So he really is like you guys.”

”Yes,” Xing Yu answered, though his brows furrowed deeper.

Nansich bit his lip. ”Do... do you know where he is now?”

Everyone fell quiet. Jian looked from one face to another.

”He shouldn’t be on Earth. Not anymore.” Xing Yu glanced sideways at Eren and Varon. ”He was supposed to have already left on the mothership....”

Nansich fell quiet, his usually bubbly demeanor dimming ever so slightly. He clutched the newly acquired sword tightly in his arms, pressing it to his chest as he stared down at the red gemstone embedded in the hilt. The same shade... the same eerie glow as the one in that man’s forehead.

So... that guy has gone back home, huh...

The thought sank into his chest like a stone in water. His fingers tightened around the grip unconsciously, jaw clenching as something cold and faintly bitter curled inside his chest.

He didn’t even say goodbye...

His teeth bit into his lower lip, just enough to sting.

They hadn’t talked for more than a few minutes, maybe exchanged a few awkward words, and yet... there was something about that guy. It was all a bit strange. Odd. But it lingered in his mind more than it should have.

But... he did say he was going to meet someone...

Nansich’s thoughts wandered again, remembering that moment clearly. The man had muttered it half to himself, almost like he wasn’t even sure what he was saying. Something about ”meeting someone important” before he left.

Maybe that was why he didn’t come back. Maybe he’d already found what he was looking for.

Nansich shook his head quickly, trying to clear the heaviness in his chest.

”Stupid,” he mumbled under his breath, ”why am I even thinking about that guy...”

His fingers gripped the sword tighter, as if drawing strength from it. The numb ache in his chest didn’t go away, but he straightened up anyway, forcing a grin onto his face as he glanced at the others.

As they stepped out of the fallen Grayling ship, the dull metal groaned behind them.

Jian turned one last time, eyeing the jagged, scorched wreckage of the ship that had once been the source of terror. His hand gripped his sword tightly at his side.

Xing Yu stood at the edge of the wreckage, the soft gleam of a thin silver disk resting between his gloved fingers—his space compression button. With a silent tap, the button lit up with a pulse of soft blue light, and a high-pitched hum rippled through the air. In a blink, the enormous ship compressed like a folding illusion, folding in on itself until all that remained was the humming disk in Xing’s palm. He tucked it away into his belt pouch without a word.

”Let’s move,” Xing Yu said simply, not needing to repeat himself.

They made their way through the woods, the silence between the group interrupted only by soft steps on fallen leaves and the occasional crackle of distant branches. Jian walked near the back, his eyes lost in thought, while Nansich twirled his new sword behind him, only stopping when Li Wang swatted his shoulder.

It didn’t take long to return to the orchard. The familiar scent of soil and fruit was a surprising comfort after the battlefield. But the tension hadn’t left the air.

Without pause, Eren and Varon split off from the group. Eren, ever eager, leapt over the crumbling wall toward the boundary of the orchard, unstrapping a sleek case from his back and opening it to reveal palm-sized spiked discs.

”Setting up the sonic blades perimeter now,” he called out, his tone unusually focused. ”Any Grayling that dares take a step here is going to be sliced up nice and neat.”

Varon joined him on the opposite side, unfolding a device shaped like an angular arch. He pressed it into the ground where it anchored and emitted a faint, protective pulse.

”This will cloak the main house with a signal mask. They won’t detect anyone inside,” Varon added, his voice flat but efficient as he moved swiftly.

Jian watched silently, his chest still hot with determination, eyes flicking toward Xing Yu—who now stood near the front porch, wiping blood off his blade with quiet precision. Everything about the Farian General was calm, efficient, powerful. Unshakeable.

And Jian... wanted that.

Behind him, Nansich plopped down on the porch, sword still hugged to his chest like a prized plush. ”Finally! Back home! I vote we all get snacks and a three-hour nap.”

”No one voted,” Li Wang muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Jian said nothing. He just kept staring forward, already thinking about how he’d train. Harder than ever.

By the time the orange tint of sunset painted the orchard sky, Xing Yu had already transformed a clearing near the barn into a makeshift training area. Thick wooden logs were upright and staked into the ground, forming uneven rows and columns. Long beams balanced across them, some swinging on ropes, some nailed stiff. A small square patch had been cleared for footwork—traced with chalk-like dust into segments.

Jian stood at one end, sweat already dotting his brow from just watching Xing Yu demonstrate the drills.

”First—your legs,” Xing Yu said sternly, clapping his hands once. ”You don’t fight with your arms. You fight with your stance. Your legs are your foundation. If that’s weak, you lose before you swing your blade.”

Beside Jian, Nansich yawned, resting the sword against his shoulder. ”I thought you were gonna teach us how to slice those graylings in half.”

”You can’t slice anything if you can’t stand,” Xing replied coolly, stepping in front of them with that same strict intensity he wore on the battlefield. ”Start with the agility run. Between the beams. No touching the sides.”

Jian and Nansich shared a look.

”This looks easy,” Nansich whispered.

It wasn’t.

The first round, both of them stumbled into the beams. By the third round, Nansich had collapsed dramatically onto the grass.

”I need water. Or ice cream. Or death,” he mumbled.

”Again,” Xing ordered sharply, his arms folded across his chest.

Jian gritted his teeth and went again. His legs screamed. His back was tight. His sword—he had to set it down just to not trip.

He ran. Jumped. Dodged. His knee scraped against a jagged beam. But he didn’t stop. Xing’s eyes followed him closely, not missing a single step.

”Faster! Balance, Jian—your left leg always stutters. Stay low!”

Jian nodded breathlessly and pushed harder. Again. Again.

By the sixth lap, his feet tangled over a slightly raised root, and before he knew it—he was falling face-first toward the wooden post.

A strong hand caught him.

Xing Yu.

Jian found himself cradled against Xing’s chest, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, the other bracing his back. His cheek was pressed against the slightly damp fabric of Xing’s black training coat. He could feel the heat beneath. The scent of sweat and leather filled his lungs—earthy and warm. He didn’t move.

His heart skipped a beat.

So close. Too close.

Xing looked down, his gray eyes softened. ”You okay?” he asked in a lower voice than usual, almost... tender.

Jian’s breath hitched. ”I-I’m fine,” he muttered, cheeks reddening. He quickly pushed off the Farian’s chest, stumbling a step back. ”Thanks.”

Xing let go without protest, his lips twitching slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

Behind them, Nansich lay sprawled on the ground dramatically, wiping sweat from his brow. ”Can I also get caught next time? Or does he only catch his favourites?”

Xing didn’t respond. Jian turned away, hand gripping his chest slightly.

Damn it... he was blushing.

Damn it... why did it feel so good to be in his arms?