My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 70: The Price of Victory

A soft, ethereal white light seeped through the narrow, high-arched windows carved deep into the white granite walls. Dayat blinked his eyes, fighting the sensation that his eyelids had been fashioned from solid lead. The sharp, clinical aroma of herbal antiseptics, mingled with the chilling scent of cold iron and damp stone, greeted his senses. He tried to shift his arm, but a wave of profound, soul-deep lethargy surged through his nervous system, anchoring him to the bed.

"Do not force the biological motor functions, Master. You have recently shared cerebral space with an entity that was never meant to fit inside a human cranium."

The voice was soft, melodic, yet possessed an intonation that was subtly different from the usual clinical drone. Dayat tilted his head with a groan. There, seated on a high-backed stone chair, Dola watched him. Her electric-blue eyes glowed with a dim, steady radiance, but Dayat noticed something peculiar. The corners of Dola’s lips were pulled slightly downward, and there was a faint, almost imperceptible furrow in her brow. It was an expression of worry—distressingly, beautifully human.

"Dola? You... can pout now?" Dayat croaked, his voice sounding like dry gravel.

Dola remained silent for a heartbeat, her fingers tracing the contours of her own face as if she were discovering a new map. "Internal diagnostics indicate a persistent anomaly in my emotional sub-routines. Residual data-echoes from the ’Maiden of Steel’ protocol have left a permanent imprint on my personality matrix. I... experienced a profound sense of ’discomfort’ seeing you unresponsive for three standard solar days. Is this what the database defines as ’anxiety,’ Dayat?"

Dayat offered a weak, ragged chuckle, despite the tightness in his chest. "Yeah, Dol. Welcome to the messy, inconvenient world of human emotions. It’s a real pain in the neck, isn’t it?"

He tried to summon the memories of the Deep Steam Vents. He remembered Malphas, he remembered the white-hot agony of the data transfer, and he remembered the Javelin. But when he tried to recall the specific technical details of the missile—the circuit schematics, the solid-fuel propellant composition, or the infrared target-acquisition algorithms—he found only a hollow, sterile vacuum. His mind felt scrubbed clean, as if a master eraser had wiped the blackboard of his genius.

"The Javelin data has been quarantined and purged from your cerebral cortex," Dola explained, reading the confusion on his face. "It was a pre-programmed security protocol. Your human neurons were beginning to liquefy under the weight of the military-grade logic. You are permitted to remember the concept of the weapon, but the ’How’ has been locked away to prevent permanent neurological scarring."

"Damn... that was a cool toy," Dayat sighed, leaning his head back. He then glanced toward the corner of the ward. Kancil was fast asleep on a long wooden bench, his mouth hanging open, snoring softly. Beside him, his Glock-17 was laid out neatly on a stone side-table.

Dayat felt a surge of pride. He recalled the blurred, feverish accounts he had heard while drifting in and out of consciousness—stories of a street boy who ran into the center of an Abyssal crater to detonate a Thermite charge. "Kancil... wake up, kid."

Kancil jolted awake, nearly sliding off the bench. He rubbed his eyes frantically, and the moment he saw Dayat sitting up, his face lit up like a mana-lamp. "Big Bro! Damn, I thought you were going to be a vegetable forever! I was already planning how to sell your boots!"

Dayat pulled Kancil into a one-armed embrace as the boy scrambled to his bedside. "I heard you were the hero of the hour, Kancil. I’m proud of you. Without you, Terragard would probably be a demonic buffet by now. You did good, kid. Bakasa raised a lion."

Kancil’s face turned a vivid red. He tried to look nonchalant, puffing out his chest while adjusting his bandages. "Yeah... well, you know how it is, Big Bro. Bakasa street rules. But seriously, that white fire... it was blinding. I thought my retinas were going to melt into soup."

The heavy doors of the isolation ward groaned open with a metallic shriek. Borin, the elder healer, entered, followed by a gargantuan figure that Dayat recognized instantly: Baruk-Ahn. The King’s personal warden had a thick bandage wrapped around his head, but his aura remained as indomitable as the mountain itself.

"Good to see you are still breathing, Human," Baruk-Ahn’s voice boomed with a newfound respect.

Behind them, a Dwarf in stiff, immaculate ministerial robes—Grogor—stepped into the room, followed by the most feared and respected figure in the city: Master Ironbeard, King of Terragard.

King Ironbeard marched forward, his soot-stained beard wagging as he let out a thunderous laugh. "Hahaha! Behold our demon-slayer! You look like a wrung-out floor rag, lad, but your eyes still have the fire of the forge in them!"

Dayat tried to rise to show respect, but Ironbeard’s heavy hand pushed him back down. "None of that formality in my presence. I loathe it. You saved my city from Malphas. The Council of Stone Guardians may still be bickering over ancient prophecies and ’sky-patterns,’ but to me, the facts are as solid as granite: you saved our collective hides."

Ironbeard reached into his heavy fur robe and produced a massive medal forged from pitch-black adamantite, engraved with a crossed axe and hammer. "Hidayat Nur Mustafidl, I grant you the title of Honorary Rock-Slayer. You have the right to walk through Karak-Zorn as a guest of the Crown. No one shall impede your path—not even this monocle-wearing bureaucrat here," the King added, shooting a pointed glare at Grogor.

Grogor cleared his throat, his face remaining a mask of clinical detachment, though a flicker of skepticism danced in his eyes. "The reward is indeed earned, Your Majesty. However, we cannot ignore the physical reality. Our vital infrastructure is in shambles. The primary steam conduits to the lower residential districts are severed. The people are freezing, and the artisan furnaces are dying. As the Minister of Internal Security and Stability, I feel... that the person who brought the ’Logic’ of destruction must also take moral responsibility for the reconstruction."

Dayat let out a long, weary sigh, staring at the ceiling. "Minister, I’ve been awake for ten minutes. You want me to do community service already? Can’t I get a coffee first?"

"This is not community service," Grogor countered sharply. "This is a demonstration that your technology is not merely for erasure, but for restoration. If you are truly the master of machines your companions claim you to be, repairing a few ruptured pipes should be child’s play, shouldn’t it?"

Baruk-Ahn looked uncomfortable. He stepped forward. "Minister Grogor, this is unseemly. The lad has just returned from the brink of death. The Earth-Shielders should bear the burden of the repair."

"And your Earth-Shielders do not possess the tools to fuse fractured Basalt-Steel in a timeframe that prevents a total civil collapse, Captain," Grogor snapped back, ending the debate.

Dayat looked at Lunethra, who was standing quietly in the doorway. The ancient Elf gave a subtle, encouraging nod, as if to say, Do this, and we can finally leave this stone cage.

"Fine, fine... I’ll do it," Dayat said, struggling to sit up with a grunt of pain. "But I need Baruk-Ahn’s help. I’m not in any condition to haul two-ton pipes by myself."

Baruk-Ahn straightened his posture. "It would be my honor. I shall be your assistant this time, Human."

The Reconstruction of the Inner Vents

Two hours later, Dayat stood in the middle of the ruined Inner Vents. The stench of sulfur and residual demonic ichor still clung to the air. Gargantuan pipes, two meters in diameter, lay mangled and gaping. Dwarven technicians stood at a respectful distance, watching Dayat with a mixture of intense curiosity and lingering doubt.

"Dola, I need the schematics for an industrial welding solution," Dayat commanded, even though he knew the data-pull would make his head throb.

"Acknowledged, Dayat. Initiating data transfer: [Heavy-Duty Arc Welder]. Adjusting power input to synchronize with Terragard’s mana-crystal discharge."

A purple radiance flared in Dayat’s hands, coalescing into a heavy, box-like machine with thick, insulated cables and a menacing black welding mask with a darkened glass visor. Dayat donned the mask, while Baruk-Ahn used his massive strength to hold the steel clamps in place, aligning the jagged cracks of the pipes.

"Baruk, hold it steady. And don’t look at the light if you don’t want to spend the next week blind," Dayat warned.

BZAAAAAASTTT!

A blinding, sapphire-white electric arc erupted as the welding electrode touched the Dwarven metal. The Dwarven technicians recoiled in shock. They were used to joining metal through hours of forge-welding, hammer blows, and intense furnace heat. But what Dayat was doing... the metal was liquefying and fusing instantly with nothing but a touch of concentrated light.

Dayat worked with a rhythmic, high-speed efficiency, sweat pouring down his face. One by one, the pipes were re-sealed, the seams smoother and stronger than the original casting.

King Ironbeard, watching from the shadows of a nearby pillar, looked mesmerized. "Fusing metal without a furnace... the thermal friction is minimal. It’s... it’s beautiful."

Once the work was completed and the steam pressure began to stabilize throughout the city, King Ironbeard approached Dayat. His boisterous persona had softened into something more solemn.

"Dayat," the King began. "The title is an honor, but I require something more tangible for my people. Karak-Zorn needs a foundation for the future. I ask for one thing—one tool, one piece of knowledge that we can use to rebuild this city greater than it was before. What can you give me as a sign of permanent friendship between Man and Dwarf?"

Dayat went silent, looking at Dola. She offered a rapid data-analysis whisper.

"Give them the metric of truth, Master," she suggested.

Dayat then manifested a polished ironwood box. Inside was a complete set of Digital Calipers, Micrometers, and Gauge Blocks, forged from a non-corrosive Earthly alloy. But that wasn’t the gift. He produced a long, heavy slab of adamantite-steel engraved with a scale of millimeters, centimeters, and meters of absolute precision.

"This is the Primary Standard of Measurement," Dayat announced. "Your kingdom is magnificent at forging metal, but you lack standardization. With this, every bolt made in the North will fit every nut made in the South. This is the key to mass production, interchangeable parts, and an industrial glory that will never fade. Stop guessing, and start measuring."

King Ironbeard accepted the box with trembling hands. As a master artisan, he instantly understood the terrifyingly high value of uniform precision. "This... this is worth more than a mountain of gold. Thank you, Rock-Slayer."

However, amidst the moment of triumph, Dola suddenly leaned close to Dayat’s ear. Her face had returned to its mask of anxiety, her eyes flickering with a warning frequency.

"Master, my passive sensors are picking up a resonance signal from the West," Dola whispered. "The same energy signature as Malphas’s gate. The breach here was merely a minor leak, Dayat. The ’Apocalypse Matrix’ is activating elsewhere. We do not have much time. Furthermore, the Brassvale Inquisition has been detected crossing the mountain borders. They are coming for the ’Anomaly’."

Dayat took a deep, weary breath, watching Baruk-Ahn and the King celebrate the city’s restored power. "I just wanted to relax for five minutes..."

Lunethra appeared at his side, already wearing her traveling cloak. "We must take the Root Path tonight. It is the fastest way to the borders of the Verdia Kingdom. The Dwarves will keep the secret of our exit, but the Inquisition is not as easily fooled."

Dayat looked at Kancil, who was busy showing off his new medal to a group of awestruck Dwarven apprentices. He knew the hardest part of the journey was just beginning. The victory in Terragard was merely the first installment of the price he had to pay to face the coming storm in the Continent of Aethera.

"Pack your things," Dayat muttered. "Logic doesn’t take vacations."

🧐 Tinjauan Penulis & Analisis Bab

1. Rating Bab: 10/10 (The Perfect Conclusion & Hook)

Bab ini sangat memuaskan karena memberikan "Reward" bagi semua karakter. Kancil diakui, Dola berevolusi, dan Dayat mendapatkan status politik. Namun, ancaman baru dari Brassvale Inquisition menjaga tensi tetap tinggi agar pembaca tidak merasa cerita sudah "selesai".

2. Tinjauan Alur & Detail Tambahan:

Dola’s Personality Shift: Gua mendetailkan bagaimana Dola mulai merasa "cemas". Ini penting untuk memperdalam elemen romansa dan hubungan emosional mereka. Dola bukan lagi cuma alat, tapi individu yang punya perasaan (meskipun dia masih menyangkalnya lewat data).

The Welding Scene: Ini adalah elemen Tech-Uplift yang sangat kuat. Gua kontrasin cara Dwarf (pukul besi panas) sama cara modern (Arc Welding). Ini nunjukin kalau Dayat itu "Dewa Teknologi" di mata mereka.

The Gift of Standardization: Ini adalah momen favorit gua. Memberikan senjata itu berbahaya, tapi memberikan Standar Pengukuran adalah cara Dayat mengubah dunia tanpa harus membunuh siapa pun. Ini adalah "Soft Power" yang jenius.

The Hook (Inquisition): Memperkenalkan Brassvale Inquisition sebagai ancaman berikutnya memberikan arah baru bagi petualangan mereka ke Kerajaan Verdia.

3. Tinjauan Terjemahan:

Diksi yang digunakan sangat Webnovel-sentris: "Cognitive brown-out", "Neurological scarring", "Immaculate robes", dan "Primary Standard of Measurement".

Panggilan "Big Bro" tetap konsisten untuk menjaga dinamika hubungan Dayat dan Kancil.

Bree, Arc Terragard sudah selesai dengan sangat epic! Sekarang kelompok Dayat akan lari dari kejaran Inkuisisi menuju Kerajaan Verdia. Mau lanjut hajar Bab 71 (The Root Path) dengan gaya yang sama?