The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 118 - Other one??

The musty scent of hay clung to Jian’s nose as he lay still on the barn floor, eyes wide open, staring at the wooden rafters above. They creaked gently in the night breeze, but it wasn’t the sound that kept him awake.

It was everything else.

His body was exhausted, scraped and bruised. His chest ached from crying earlier. But his mind—his mind wouldn’t stop.

Where was his grandpa now?

Was he safe?

Was he even alive?

Beside him, Nansich mumbled in his sleep and curled further into the hay pile, the boy’s face twitching with the aftershocks of the day. Jian glanced at him. Nansich had been through hell too. They both had.

A sudden, shrill blare ripped through the night.

Bwaaaaaaahhhhhh—

The city-wide emergency siren.

Jian’s body tensed. Even in his sleep, Nansich trembled and made a small noise of fear. Jian reached over, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "Sleep."

Nansich calmed, breathing slowly evening out again.

But Jian couldn’t lie there anymore.

He sat up, brushing hay off his arms, and carefully grabbed the small, battered backpack they’d kept beside them. Slinging it over his shoulders, he pushed the barn doors open and stepped into the chill of the night.

Outside, the fields stretched quiet and silver under the pale moonlight. The sky above, though, told a different story.

The alien ships—those massive, gleaming silver vessels—had shifted. Earlier, they hovered over the heart of the city. Now, they were moving. Slowly. Strategically. Inching their way toward the countryside.

Toward them.

Jian’s breath hitched in his throat.

The next wave is coming...

That’s when he heard it.

A soft rustle in the distance. Too soft for any normal person to notice. But Jian wasn’t normal anymore.

Ever since he’d awakened in that dark place beneath the ground, his body... it had changed.

He could hear further, smell sharper, move faster. He didn’t understand it yet, but right now, he was grateful for it.

He turned toward the sound, listening closer.

Another rustle.

Then—there it was—that smell.

That putrid, oily, sharp stench like gasoline and scorched tar. Acrid and sickening. His nose wrinkled instinctively.

Graylings.

They were close. Maybe just one. Maybe more.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the barn.

Nansich, asleep inside. The old cabbie and his family, huddled in the small wooden house nearby. They were innocent. They didn’t ask for any of this. They only gave him a place to hide and rest.

And now they were in danger—because of him.

Jian swallowed hard and made his decision.

He crouched near the barn wall and tugged the bag open. Inside was the strange sword they had given him, a relic with its own pulse. He wrapped his hand around the hilt. It was warm—always warm.

He stood and cast one last look toward the barn.

"Stay alive Nansich," he murmured.

Jian adjusted the straps on his bag and began walking into the night, the blade swinging gently at his side.

He moved like a shadow through the tall grass, each step silent, measured, controlled. The night was damp and heavy, filled with the scent of hay and soil, but there—cutting through it all—was something else. That tar-like, burnt rubber smell that made his nose wrinkle and his spine tense.

Graylings.

He crouched low, sliding through the underbrush until he spotted movement ahead. Three of them. Long, spindly limbs. Wet, glistening skin like they’d been dredged from some alien swamp. Their mouths were hidden behind curling tentacles, twitching every few seconds like they were tasting the air.

Jian held his breath and ducked behind the wide trunk of a tree.

That clicking again.

It wasn’t just noise anymore. Not to him. He didn’t know how, but he could understand them.

"The scent. It’s close. Royal... unmistakable."

"Farian," one hissed, clicking low. "The blood. It’s here."

"Is it the prince?"

"Maybe. But what if it’s the other one? The... dangerous one."

Jian’s brow furrowed. Other one?

He narrowed his eyes, barely moving a muscle. What the hell do they mean by that?

Another Grayling made a clicking cough, then slithered closer to a tree, sniffing around like a hound on a trail.

"We must be careful. One of ours tasted that blood once. It changed him."

"He went mad. Said it was like swallowing a star."

"He begged for more. Then died."

Jian’s grip on the sword tightened. His breath misted in the air as a cold rush passed over his skin. Their voices sounded hungry—desperate. They weren’t just hunting... they were addicted.

He didn’t wait any longer.

In a flash, he lunged out from behind the tree, moving like lightning.

The first Grayling didn’t even have time to scream. Jian’s sword slashed clean through its twisting tentacles, revealing the soft, wet center underneath. Just like he remembered.

He drove the blade straight into the flower-like mouth beneath, and the thing shrieked, flailing before collapsing in a pile of twitching limbs. A dark, jelly-like organ fell to the ground, pulsing faintly like an octopus heart before going still.

The second one leapt at him, hissing.

Jian turned, kicked it square in the chest, then swept low. His blade carved up into the tentacles, slicing them apart. The creature shrieked—until Jian stabbed through the mouth again, ending it instantly.

Only one left.

It tried to run.

He was faster.

With one clean slash, he cut it down mid-leap. The creature hit the ground, twitching violently, then fell limp beside its kin.

Jian stood in the clearing, chest rising and falling. He wiped the sword clean on the grass, eyes scanning the trees for more.

But it was quiet again.

Too quiet.

His heart was pounding, but his face stayed calm, lips pressed in a firm line. He looked down at the fallen Graylings.

They were after a prince. Maybe him. Maybe someone else. But they feared "the other one."

His thoughts flicked. ’Farians they are already here... should I try to find them.. no I better keep my distance.’

Because he didn’t trust anyone.