My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 120: The Calm Before the Storm

​The morning sunlight in Lamping Village always carried a distinctive, soul-soothing aroma—a delicate blend of dew evaporating from the Manaferum wheat leaves and the warm, comforting scent of damp earth awakening. Atop a weathered wooden platform at the edge of the village granary, Dayat sat in silence, meticulously wiping the blade of the Silver Thorn, which remained largely concealed under a thick, protective cloth. His eyes were narrowed, fixed on the distant horizon where the colossal pine forests acted as a natural barricade, shielding this tiny sanctuary from the predatory world outside.

​Outwardly, he appeared relaxed, perhaps even at peace. However, deep within the recesses of his mind, Dayat was counting the seconds, his internal clock ticking with a rhythmic, mechanical precision.

​"Dola, detection status," Dayat whispered, his lips barely moving as he kept his gaze forward.

​Dola, standing motionless beside him—clad in her sleek black bodysuit and a white cape that fluttered gently in the morning breeze—responded in a flat, clinical tone audible only to him. [Scanning... A five-kilometer radius is clear of hostile magical signatures. Villager activity remains within normal parameters. However, I must note that subject ’Dayat’s’ anxiety levels have experienced a 12% increase since dawn.]

​Dayat let out a faint, sharp grunt, sliding his sword back into its makeshift sheath. "Of course it’s increasing. We’ve been here for three days, Dola. Three days is an eternity for fugitives of our caliber. We’re overstaying our welcome with every breath we take."

​"Then why did we not depart last night as originally projected?" Dola asked, her head tilting slightly in a mimicry of human curiosity.

​Dayat glanced toward the village square. In the center of the field, Kancil was currently surrounded by five small children. They were doubling over in laughter as Kancil performed rudimentary magic tricks with a copper coin, while a young human boy named Bimo attempted to climb onto Kancil’s back as if the man were a legendary mount.

​"Kancil..." Dayat murmured, his expression softening for a fleeting second. "He’s finally laughing again. After the horrors of that root dungeon, he’s found a piece of himself here. And then there’s Thalor... he specifically asked for our help to stabilize the leaning granary today. There are too many reasons to stay, Dola. And every one of those reasons feels like a silken cord pulling me deeper into a beautifully decorated trap."

​Right then, the sound of light, rhythmic footsteps approached. Dayat immediately adjusted his features, donning the friendly, approachable mask he had spent the last few days perfecting.

​"Master Dayat! You’re up early again, I see?"

​It was Lyrielle. The village healer walked toward him, carrying a wooden tray with two steaming cups of tea that released a fragrant, floral steam. Her hair was tied back in a simple, practical knot, and her bright, genuine smile seemed capable of dispelling even the darkest clouds of anxiety.

​"Just enjoying the morning air, Lyrielle. Thank you for the tea," Dayat replied politely, taking a cup.

​Lyrielle set the tray down and took a seat near Dayat, perhaps a fraction closer than what was considered strictly polite by Elven social standards. "You look like you have much on your mind. Is the wheat here not to your liking? Or perhaps the bedding in the loft is too firm?"

​"No, everything is perfect. Too perfect, honestly. Sometimes I’m afraid this is all just a dream, and I’ll wake up to find it’s already gone," Dayat said, taking a slow sip of the herbal brew.

​"If this is a dream, then I hope we never have to wake up," Lyrielle said quickly, her eyes locking onto Dayat’s with a shimmering intensity that was impossible to mistake. "This village hasn’t had a visitor as remarkable as you in a very long time. You know, Thalor says that since you fixed the waterwheel yesterday, the elders are starting to think of you as a ’hero of the craft.’"

​Dayat offered only a thin, guarded smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dola standing perfectly rigid, her glowing blue eyes fixed on Lyrielle with a cold, unreadable gaze.

​"Lyrielle, shouldn’t you be checking on the patients at the infirmary rather than idling about?" Lunethra’s voice rang out from behind them. The former princess walked toward them with an effortless grace, her emerald-green cloak brushing against the wooden floorboards. Her eyes bore into Lyrielle with a sharp, regal reprimand that caused the young healer to blush deeply and stand up in a hurry.

​"Ah, Lunethra! I... I was just delivering the morning tea!" Lyrielle bowed slightly, stealing one last glance at Dayat before scurrying away toward the village center.

​Lunethra sighed heavily, taking the seat Lyrielle had just vacated. "That girl is far too transparent with her feelings. You need to be careful, Dayat. In Verdia, the attraction of an Elf to a human often leads to diplomatic complications that neither of us can afford right now."

​"I don’t have time for romance, Lunethra. You know that better than anyone," Dayat replied flatly.

​"That is for the best," Dola interjected suddenly. [Subject Lyrielle exhibits unstable hormonal fluctuations whenever she is in proximity to Dayat. It is highly recommended to minimize physical and emotional contact to avoid social complications that could compromise our cover.]

​Dayat could only rub his temples. Between an AI that was too logical and a princess who was too protective, his life felt increasingly claustrophobic. However, amidst this domestic bickering, Dayat remained unaware that elsewhere, the wheels of his fate were being turned by hands fueled by pure, unadulterated hatred.

​The City of Sylvarin – The Spire Tower

​Governor Caelistra stood behind her expansive desk, her gaze fixed on a communication crystal that pulsed with a golden light. In front of her, Haelos stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

​"Are you absolutely certain of what you heard, Haelos?" Caelistra’s voice was calm, yet beneath the surface, there was a palpable vibration of ambition.

​"I am certain, Governor. Eren—the informant—provided details that are far too accurate to be a fabrication. He spoke of a man with ’black hair,’ a woman who resembles an intricate porcelain doll, and the traitorous Princess Lunethra. They are hiding in Lamping Village, masquerading as simple travelers."

​Caelistra walked toward the window, her eyes tracking toward the East. "Lamping... a mere few hours’ march from these gates. If I mobilize the Silver Leaf Division now, I could have their heads on pikes before the sun sets."

​"With all due respect, Governor," Haelos interrupted smoothly. "We are dealing with the ’Calamity Architect’ and the ’Maiden of Steel.’ Vaelith was brought to its knees because of them. The primary gates of Queen Verene’s palace were torn apart like wet parchment. If you attack with only the forces of Sylvarin, you risk losing this entire city if they choose to retaliate with their full, unchecked power."

​Caelistra fell silent, her slender fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the crystal. Haelos was right. Her ambition could not be allowed to blind her to the reality of the enemy’s strength. She needed legitimacy—and more importantly, she needed the military backing of the central government so that Sylvarin would not bear the brunt of a potential failure.

​"Connect me with Vaelith. Immediately," Caelistra commanded.

​A communication soldier in the corner of the room quickly began chanting a series of complex activation spells. The crystal atop the desk began to emit a vivid, high-definition audiovisual projection. Moments later, the face of Queen Verene materialized. The Queen looked visibly exhausted, her sharp eyes underlined by dark circles, yet her aura remained as oppressive as ever.

​"Governor Caelistra," Verene’s voice was cold and clipped. "Why have you disturbed my council?"

​Caelistra immediately dropped to one knee, offering her deepest, most respectful salute. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I bring news that will end Verdia’s suffering. The fugitives who desecrated the sanctity of Vaelith... they have been located."

​Verene’s eyes widened. The exhaustion on her face seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by a searing, pure flame of rage. "Where?"

​"Lamping Village, Your Majesty. Within the northern administrative district of Sylvarin. They are hiding there, blending in with the common rabble," Caelistra reported. "I wished to move immediately, but I realized the threat of the Maiden’s messenger is not to be underestimated. I humbly request your instructions and the support of the capital’s military to ensure there is no escape for them."

​On the other side of the crystal, Verene was silent for a long moment. She glanced to the side, likely toward the Council of Root Guardians who were always whispering in the shadows of the throne.

​"Lamping is a mixed-blood settlement, is it not?" Verene asked.

​"It is, Your Majesty. The population consists of low-caste Elves and human refugees."

​"Obliterate it," Verene said shortly, her voice devoid of even a shred of hesitation. "I care nothing for the village. If they have provided sanctuary to traitors, then they are enemies of the Crown. Caelistra, hold your forces. Do not make any conspicuous movements until General Haelir and the Holy Light Battalion arrive in Sylvarin. I am dispatching thousands of Paladins from the capital tonight. We will encircle that village until not even an ant can crawl out unnoticed."

​Caelistra smiled inwardly. Everything was unfolding according to her grand design. "As you command, Your Majesty. I will ensure the informant remains under strict surveillance and monitor every inch of movement in Lamping from afar."

​"Do not fail me, Caelistra," Verene warned before the communication link snapped shut. "If the Calamity Architect escapes again, it will be your head that takes his place in Vaelith’s central plaza."

​The projection faded. The room returned to a heavy, chilling silence.

​"Did you hear that, Haelos?" Caelistra turned, her eyes glittering with excitement. "The Holy Light Battalion is coming. We will not just capture fugitives; we will show the world that Sylvarin is the unbreakable fortress of Verdia."

​"And what of Eren, the informant?" Haelos asked.

​"Keep him in his cell. He will be far more useful as a witness for the public execution later. Give him decent meals, but do not allow him to see a single ray of sunlight. He belongs to me until this matter is concluded."

​Lamping Village – Night

​That night, Lamping Village felt unnervingly peaceful. The Mana-crickets resonated with a melodic sweetness, indicating a perfect stability in the earth’s energy. Dayat stood on the balcony of the granary loft, staring at the distant, glittering stars and the two moons that graced the velvet sky.

​Kancil was already fast asleep, exhausted from a full day of playing. Dola stood in the corner of the room, her systems in a low-power sensory hibernation mode to conserve energy. There was only Dayat and the deep, heavy silence of the night.

​"Why do I have this bad feeling?" Dayat whispered to himself.

​He clutched his chest, feeling a strange, suffocating tightness. He saw Lyrielle’s laughing face in his mind, Thalor’s proud expression as he told stories of the village’s history, and the innocent faces of the children who had played with Kancil.

​"We have to leave at dawn," Dayat decided, his voice firm. "To hell with the granary repairs. To hell with politeness. If we stay a moment longer, something catastrophic is going to happen."

​He did not know that the order had already been given. In the darkness of the night, along the main thoroughfare leading toward Sylvarin, clouds of dust were being kicked up by the relentless gallop of thousands of Verdant Stags and military mounts. Within his dark cell, Eren laughed to himself as he hugged his knees, hallucinating about the piles of gold he was about to receive.

​Eren did not realize that in Caelistra’s eyes, he was merely disposable trash. And Dayat did not realize that the very "kindness" he had shown this village would be the primary reason Verene would burn the entire place to ash.

​The dawn that was coming tomorrow was no longer a dawn of warmth and growth, but a dawn of cold silver plate and arrowheads thirsty for blood. Dayat’s peaceful interlude had ended, replaced by a symphony of betrayal that was about to reach its terrifying crescendo.

​"I’m sorry... for this village," Dayat murmured, his gaze lingering on the twin moons. "I should never have come here."