My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 58: The Scout’s Report

Thick plumes of white steam spiraled toward the high-vaulted ceiling of Master Ironbeard’s private workshop, rising from the surface of the gargantuan Coolant Tank tucked into the far corner. Inside the copper-bound vessel, Dola lay perfectly still, submerged in a cocktail of purified glacial water and crushed mana-ice crystals. The liquid shimmered with a pale, ethereal azure light as it greedily absorbed the excess thermal energy radiating from her synthetic skin.

Dayat stood at the edge of the tank, his reflection staring back at him from the rippling surface. He looked like a ghost of the man who had arrived in Terragard. His face was gaunt, smeared with the black soot of gunpowder from the HK416 and the dried, foul-smelling ichor of the Dretches. His hands, though steady now, still felt the phantom vibration of the industrial drill he had wielded as a weapon of construction turned destruction.

Beside him, Lunethra stood in the shadows. Her usually pristine emerald robes were frayed at the hem, a silent testament to the chaos they had just survived. The workshop was unnervingly quiet, save for the rhythmic, monotonous ticking of a massive steam-clock on the wall—a sound that felt like a heartbeat in a city of stone.

"Will she recover?" Lunethra’s voice finally broke the heavy silence. Her tone was soft, carrying a trace of anxiety that she couldn’t entirely mask with her usual Elven composure.

Dayat didn’t turn his head. His eyes remained fixed on the glowing biometric indicator on Dola’s wrist, currently pulsing a faint purple beneath the water. "Her core temperature has dropped to 40 degrees Celsius. Her systems just need time to recalibrate and purge the logic-recursion caused by the Void interference. She... she’s not just a machine, Lun. But she’s not invincible either."

Lunethra stepped closer, the faint, comforting scent of rain-washed pine needles from her skin cutting through the workshop’s heavy aroma of oil and sulfur. "When she wept back there... I have never witnessed magic or technology capable of replicating emotion with such raw intensity. It wasn’t a simulation, Dayat. She was truly terrified of a world where you didn’t exist."

Dayat let out a long, ragged breath, rubbing his tired face with calloused hands. "I don’t fully understand it myself. By all Earthly logic, an AI doesn’t have tear ducts unless programmed for aesthetics. But here... in Aethera... my logic seems to be getting rewritten as often as her code. Maybe the Source Code is merging her data with the soul of this world."

Lunethra hesitated for a heartbeat, her slender hand reaching out to touch Dayat’s arm. The contact was warm and grounding against the damp chill of the workshop. "You also fought with terrifying courage. Without those explosive iron staves of yours, the Elders would be nothing more than demonic feed by now. Terragard owes its soul to your ’Physics’."

Dayat felt a strange, uncomfortable tension in the air. He could feel Lunethra’s gaze lingering on him with a weight that had changed since their first meeting in the Wailing Woods. It was a mix of professional curiosity and something far more personal—a spark of admiration that made his chest tighten. He nodded slowly, subtly shifting his arm to check the steam-pressure gauge on Dola’s tank, breaking the contact.

"I just wanted to survive, Lun. That’s all this was," he replied shortly, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears.

The heavy iron-reinforced doors of the workshop were suddenly thrown open with a resonant clang. Two Dwarven sentinels, encased in heavy plate armor polished to a mirror finish, stood in the doorway. They held massive halberds topped with serrated axe-heads, their eyes sharp behind their visors.

"Lord Dayat, Lady Lunethra," one of the guards announced in a booming baritone. "His Majesty, King Ironbeard, requests your immediate presence in the Basalt Throne Hall. This is a formal royal summons."

Dayat glanced at Lunethra, then back at the sleeping Dola. The blue indicator on her wrist was stable. "I guess the bill for our sanctuary has finally arrived."

The Basalt Throne Hall

The journey to the heart of Terragard Castle took them through corridors that were masterpieces of geological engineering. Unlike the grimy, cacophonous mining districts, the royal sector was the pinnacle of Dwarven majesty. Basalt pillars, twenty meters high and carved with the history of the mountain’s formation, supported a ceiling adorned with rare blue mana-crystals that provided a constant, luxurious twilight.

The Basalt Throne Hall was a vast, echoing chamber dominated by a singular throne carved from a monolithic slab of obsidian. Atop it sat Master Ironbeard. He had traded his scorched leather workshop apron for a magnificent robe made of mountain-ram fur and gold-chased plate armor etched with ancient runes of power.

Beside the throne, a long stone table had been prepared. Upon it lay a slender box made of blackened ironwood, decorated with intricate silver seals.

"Step forward, Human! And you as well, Elf!" Ironbeard’s voice thundered through the hall, echoing off the obsidian walls.

Dayat and Lunethra complied, stopping exactly five paces before the dais. Dayat scanned the room; there was no sign of suspicion. Galdur’s death—or rather, his crushing defeat—had apparently been accepted as a tragic necessity or a casualty of the invasion. To the Dwarves, dying in battle was a noble end, and none were foolish enough to blame the King’s guest in the heat of a demonic breach that had threatened the entire capital.

"The disturbance in the Deep Steam Vents has been quelled. My engineers and stone-mages are currently reinforcing the blockades with consecrated granite and iron-oak seals," Ironbeard stated, his sharp eyes locked onto Dayat. "You have proven that your ’Explosive Iron’ is more effective than the prayers of my priests. For that, Terragard offers more than just gratitude."

The King signaled an attendant to open the box. As the lid creaked back, a shimmering silver light reflected off the basalt walls.

Inside lay a sword. Its blade was slender yet looked impossibly sturdy, possessing an unusual metallic luster—like liquid moonlight tempered with starlight. The hilt was fashioned from dragon-bone, intricately carved with the patterns of climbing vines, and the cross-guard was made of polished cold-iron.

"This is Silver Thorn," Ironbeard said, his voice dropping into a reverent tone. "An Adamantite blade carried by a hero of Verdia hundreds of years ago. During the War of the Seven Kingdoms, when our continent was drowning in blood over borders, Verdia sought to conquer this mountain. Their champion fell in our deepest tunnel. Since then, this blade has been a trophy of Terragard—a symbol of Verdia’s failure that has now become a relic of a peaceful past."

Lunethra stared at the blade with an expression Dayat couldn’t quite decipher. It was too intense for mere curiosity, yet too calm for grief. There was something in the way she looked at that steel, as if she recognized the craftsmanship or the history behind it, though she remained silent.

"This blade is useless to us Dwarves," Ironbeard continued with a small, gruff chuckle. "Too light. Too dainty for our heavy hands and thick skulls. But for you, who carries such strange and precise technology, it may serve as a worthy tool. Perhaps you can manifest something to make it even more lethal."

Dayat stepped forward and took the sword. The weight was perfection, the balance divine. It felt like an extension of his own arm. But what made his pulse quicken was the material analysis scrolling in his peripheral vision. Adamantite. According to Dola’s database, it was a legendary alloy with a molecular hardness approaching diamond but with superior metallic elasticity. It was the perfect material for a high-frequency vibration blade or a high-velocity kinetic penetrator.

"Thank you, Great King," Dayat said formally, bowing his head.

Ironbeard straightened his posture, his expression turning serious. "Do not celebrate just yet, Human. That blade and the protection of this city come with a price. Starting tomorrow, you shall begin your tenure at the Royal Foundry. I want you to teach the principles of ’Physics’ and ’Precision’ you spoke of to my lead engineers. Terragard must evolve, and you are the key to our industrial future. Do you accept this bargain?"

Dayat looked at the shimmering blade in his hand, then at the silent Lunethra. He needed resources. He needed a safe haven to fully repair Dola’s damaged systems. He needed materials that could withstand the raw power of the Source Code. He wasn’t here to challenge fate or hunt legendary monsters—he just wanted to survive in a world that wasn’t built for him.

"Accepted. As long as I am a guest here, I will assist the engineers of Terragard," Dayat answered firmly.

The Deception of Safety

As the audience concluded, Dayat and Lunethra walked back toward the workshop district. Halfway there, a small figure came sprinting from a side-tunnel, his breathing heavy and erratic. It was Kancil, looking surprisingly energetic for someone who had just faced a demon horde.

"Big Bro Dayat! Miss Lunethra!" Kancil skidded to a halt, gripping his knees as he wheezed for air.

"What’s the rush, Kancil? You look like you’ve seen another ghost," Dayat asked, a faint smile returning to his face.

"No, Big Bro... just reporting. I just finished a lap with the Dwarven cleanup crew at the rift area," Kancil wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes shining with relief. "Everything is solid. The Dwarves have put up a stone barricade three meters thick. They’ve even reopened the logistics line to the gold mines. They said the problem is fixed—that those demons were just ’lost scavengers’ looking for a way out. The priests are already calling it a minor hiccup."

Dayat nodded, feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders. "Good. Go get some food, and stay away from the restricted zones for a while. You’ve done enough for one day."

Kancil grinned, his usual mischievous energy returning. "Understood, Big Bro! I’m heading to the communal kitchens. I heard they’re serving stone-mushroom soup today, and the chef promised me an extra ladle for my ’bravery’!" The boy ran off cheerfully, his footsteps echoing through the stone halls, blissfully unaware of the lingering chill in the deep air.

Dayat and Lunethra continued their walk. They felt safe. They felt that today’s victory was absolute—a triumph of logic and steel over chaos.

The Abyss Watches Back

Deep beneath the mountain, at the site of Dayat’s desperate battle with the Dretches, the stone barricade stood tall and imposing. It was a wall of solid rock, reinforced with holy seals and Dwarven runes. However, behind that wall, in the absolute darkness untouched by any mana-lamp or bioluminescent crystal, the very fabric of reality began to vibrate.

The small rift, which had previously been only three meters wide, had not closed. The "cleanup" had been a surface-level bandage on a lethal wound.

Slowly, silently, without emitting a single joule of detectable energy, the space began to expand. Like a wound being pried open by invisible, necrotizing fingers, the edges of the rift began to pulse with a dense, oily purple radiance.

KREEEEK...

The sound was infinitesimal, softer than the cracking of thin ice under a winter moon. But behind the gap, which had now widened to five meters, a gargantuan eye with a vertical, blood-red pupil snapped open. The eye stared into the world of Aethera with a gaze of pure, ancient malice—a look that saw not people, but prey.

A massive hand with obsidian-long claws gripped the edges of the reality-tear, beginning to pull with a strength that defied the laws of mass. The Demon General felt no need for haste. The path was set, the invitation had been signed in blood, and he was merely waiting for the perfect moment to step through and turn this stone civilization into a graveyard of cold basalt.

Above, in the warmth of the workshop, Dayat was smiling as he admired the balance of his new blade, completely unaware that the apocalypse had just started its final countdown. He believed he was an engineer in a world of magic, but he was soon to learn that even physics has no answer for the hunger of the Void.