My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World

Chapter 153: Night at Alaric’s Mansion

Midnight. The moon was shrouded by thick clouds, with only occasional slivers of pale light piercing through the gaps. The Elite District glowed brightly with crystal lamps, but in the narrow alleys that marked the boundary between the wealthy and the destitute, darkness still reigned supreme.

Dayat and Dola stood at a corner, concealed behind a stack of weathered wooden crates. From their vantage point, they could see the iron gates of Alaric’s mansion. Two guards stood tall and alert.

"Patrols pass every fifteen minutes," Dola whispered, her eyes tracking the movements of the guards along the road. "Small groups. Three to four men each. But they have sentry posts at every corner."

Dayat observed the iron fence surrounding the mansion. It was high—at least three meters—topped with jagged spikes. "You sure we can get over that?"

"We can. But not from the front." Dola pointed toward the eastern side of the mansion. "There, behind the kitchen. Old data shows a small service door for logistics. The guards there are usually fewer."

"And usually sleepier," Dayat added, noticing two guards at the rear post whose shoulders were slumped, their spears leaning against the wall.

Dola watched them for a moment. "Night shift. Fatigue. Their focus is compromised."

Dayat took a deep breath. "We go in through there. You time the rotation, I’ll handle the climb."

"Agreed. But remember, once we’re in, there’s no turning back. The guards rotate every four hours. Our window is limited."

"I know." Dayat checked his gear—nylon rope coiled at his waist, a small flashlight in his pocket, black gloves already on. The electric lockpick was in his left hand, ready for use. "Find Dalgor, get him out, and vanish. Simple."

"Nothing is ever simple, Husband."

Dayat offered a thin smile beneath his hood. "Let me have my dreams."

They moved through the shadows. Their footsteps were silent, bodies crouched low, hugging the walls of the luxurious houses lined up in a row. Every time a crystal street lamp flickered, they stopped. Every time the sound of approaching footsteps echoed, they froze.

Dola could hear Dayat’s heartbeat in her ears. Steady. No panic.

They reached the eastern side of the mansion. The iron fence was just as high, but here, there were no crystal lamps. Only darkness illuminated by the faint moon. Behind the fence, they could see a small wooden door—the kitchen entrance.

Two guards stood there. One leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed. The other stood upright, but his head was nodding—he was drifting off.

"Now," Dola whispered.

Dayat leaped, his hands gripping the iron bars. With swift, silent movements, he climbed. His black gloves muffled the sound of metal. Within seconds, he was at the top of the fence, crouching low to avoid the spikes.

He looked down. The two guards hadn’t moved.

Dayat dropped down, landing with bent knees, one hand touching the ground to dampen the sound. Dola followed, lighter and faster. She landed soundlessly right beside him.

They crouched behind a pile of empty sacks, observing the kitchen door. A heavy iron padlock hung from the handle.

Dayat moved. With the electric lockpick in hand, he approached the door. The dimly glowing tip touched the keyhole. There was a faint click—barely audible—and the lock popped open.

"Quickly," Dola whispered from behind.

Dayat opened the door slowly. There was no creak. They slipped inside.

Inside, the mansion’s kitchen was cold and silent. Cooking utensils hung neatly on the walls. A long wooden table sat empty. At the end of the room was a hallway leading deeper into the mansion.

"Left," Dola whispered, her eyes already scanning the building’s structure from her memory banks. "The back hallway. At the end, there are stairs leading to the basement."

They moved. Small, quick steps, avoiding areas that might be lit. The walls of the hallway were made of black stone, cold to the touch. Oil lamps on the walls burned dimly, casting long, swaying shadows.

There were no guards in this hallway. Perhaps they thought the back door was secure enough. Perhaps they underestimated anyone brave enough to infiltrate a Count’s mansion.

Dayat stopped in front of a heavy iron door. Behind it, faint sounds—groans, wails, and the occasional dry cough.

"The dungeon," Dola said.

Dayat peered through a small slit in the door. Inside was a dark corridor with cells on either side. Several figures were seen leaning against the walls, their bodies covered in wounds, their clothes in tatters. There were humans, Elves, Dwarves. All looked frail.

Dayat took a breath. "Dalgor is in there."

"I’ll open the door."

Dola reached for the electric lockpick. But before she could touch the lock, Dayat raised his hand. "Wait."

"Why?"

"I forgot... the hallway door back there. I didn’t close it properly."

Dola turned her head. "We have to be fast."

Dayat nodded. But before they could act, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway.

"Someone’s inside!" someone shouted. "Check the back door!"

An alarm blared. The sound of a small bell resonated throughout the entire mansion.

Dayat and Dola locked eyes. There was no time to hide.

"Get Dalgor now!" Dayat slammed his shoulder against the iron door. The lock was strong, but it couldn’t withstand the brute force of the impact. The door swung open with a screeching groan.

Inside, the prisoners were startled. Some stood up, others merely stared with eyes full of desperate hope.

"Dalgor!" Dayat shouted, moving quickly between the cells. "Dalgor, where are you?"

From the very last cell, a weak voice answered. "Dayat...?"

Dayat ran toward the sound. Behind the iron bars, an old Dwarf lay on the damp earthen floor. His clothes were rags. His once-thick beard was now matted and filthy. His body was covered in whip marks and burns.

"Dalgor!" Dayat knelt, trying to force the cell lock with his electric lockpick. "You—they did this to you?"

Dalgor offered a bitter smile, dried blood at the corner of his lips. "They wanted to know where you were, Dayat. They thought I knew."

"I’m getting you out."

"Too late, lad..." Dalgor coughed, his body trembling. "I’ve been here too long. My wounds are too deep."

Dayat bit his lip. His hands shook as the electric lockpick worked on the lock. "You’re not dying here. I promise."

Behind them, the footsteps of the guards grew closer. Shouts and the clatter of weapons echoed in the corridor.

Dola stood at the entrance of the dungeon, her eyes fixed on the hallway. "Dayat, hurry. They’re coming."

The lock clicked open. Dayat shoved the iron cell door aside. He reached for Dalgor’s frail body, trying to lift him. But Dalgor shook his head.

"Take me later."

Dayat turned. At the end of the corridor, the guards began to pour in. Spears glowed with light, swords were drawn. Their faces were tense, ready to kill.

"Stay here," Dayat told Dalgor.

He stood up. In his hands, green particles began to coalesce, forming a weapon. A silenced pistol—simple in design, light, and fast.

Thwip. Thwip.

Two shots. Two guards in the front collapsed. The others shouted, ducking behind the corner of the corridor.

But there were too many of them. From every corner, more guards arrived. Their magic spears pierced the air, and blades glinted under the oil lamps.

Dayat stepped back, aimed, and fired. Three more fell. But the numbers didn’t dwindle.

Dola stepped forward.

She had no weapon. She didn’t need one. Her hand rose, and the air in the corridor shifted. The advancing guards suddenly stumbled, their legs feeling heavy, their breath coming in gasps. The Mana in their bodies surged violently, as if something were tearing it out.

"What—what’s happening?" one of the guards screamed, falling to his knees.

Dola didn’t answer. Her electric blue eyes glowed fiercely beneath her hood. With a flick of her hand, she directed the Mana flowing out of the guards’ bodies, letting it dissipate into the air.

Three more guards collapsed, their bodies limp, unable to move.

"She’s a demon!" another shouted. "The demon is here!"

They retreated. But from the end of the corridor, a tall figure in a floating black robe appeared.

Gravion.

The gravity mage smiled thinly. "The Maiden’s Emissary. You finally showed up."

Dayat raised his pistol, aiming. Gravion raised his staff.

Suddenly, Dayat felt his body grow impossibly heavy. It felt as if a giant hand were crushing him into the earth. His legs shook, and his arms became difficult to lift.

"Remember the last time we met?" Gravion stepped forward, his voice calm. "You and your assistant nearly died. Now you return, more foolish than before."

Dayat spat through gritted teeth. In his hand, green particles began to gather again. Not a weapon this time. Something smaller, lighter. A circular device with a button in the center.

Gravion frowned. "What is that?"

"A gravity disruptor," Dayat replied.

He pressed the button. A small wave rippled out from the device, and the crushing weight on Dayat’s body vanished instantly. He stood tall.

Gravion was stunned. "Impossible—"

"You forgot, I am the Creator," Dayat said. "A Creator unlike any this world has ever seen."

He raised his pistol again. But Gravion was prepared. With a flick of his staff, he conjured a gravity wall in front of him. Dayat’s bullets slowed in the air, then dropped harmlessly to the floor.

"Annoying," Gravion muttered.

Behind Dayat, Dola still stood calmly. Gravion couldn’t suppress her. The Mana in her body was too potent, too stable. To Dola, this gravity magic was nothing more than a passing breeze.

But that didn’t mean they could win. Guards kept coming. Dayat couldn’t fight forever. Dalgor was dying in his cell.

Then, from the end of the hallway, the sound of applause echoed.

"Bravo. Bravo."

Count Alaric appeared with a leisurely stride. A black robe with gold embroidery, hair perfectly combed, a thin smirk on his lips. He didn’t look surprised or angry. He looked... satisfied.

"The Maiden’s Emissary. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time."

Dayat aimed his pistol but didn’t fire. Alaric wasn’t alone. In his hand, he held a small, hexagonal crystal glowing with a dim purple light.

"Do you know what this is?" Alaric lifted the crystal. "A relic from the ancient era. They say it can control the mind of anyone who gazes upon it. I haven’t had the chance to test it yet."

He pointed the crystal toward Dola.

"But I believe now is the perfect time."

The purple light flared. Dola froze. Her electric blue eyes turned hollow. Her expression vanished. No anger, no fear, no anything.

"Dola!" Dayat screamed.

Dola didn’t answer.

Alaric laughed. "Look, my collection grows."

He turned to Dola. "Come here."

Dola took a step. Slowly, without expression, her empty eyes stared straight ahead. She walked past Dayat, past the guards who were still on alert, and stood beside Alaric.

Dayat reached for her hand, but Dola didn’t react.

"Dola! Wake up!"

No answer.

Alaric laughed again, louder this time. "Finally. After all this time, I have the most beautiful piece of the collection."

He turned to Gravion. "Capture him. Imprison him. Let him know that what he loves now belongs to me."

Gravion nodded. His staff rose, and Dayat felt his body crushed by gravity once more—stronger and heavier this time. His legs gave out, his knees hitting the floor. Two guards immediately lunged, pulling his arms back and snapping iron shackles onto his wrists.

Dayat didn’t resist. His eyes were still fixed on Dola. Dola stood silently beside Alaric, her hollow eyes staring at the wall. No movement. No sound.

"Take him to the deepest cell," Alaric ordered nonchalantly. "Let him feel what it’s like to lose something precious."

The guards dragged Dayat away. He didn’t fight back. Over the guard’s shoulder, he saw Dola standing rigid, Alaric smiling with satisfaction, and the empty cell where Dalgor lay dying.

The sound of footsteps faded. The mansion’s corridors felt longer than ever before. Every door they passed was tightly shut, every oil lamp burned dimly, casting long, swaying shadows.

Dayat was led to the very bottom of the mansion. A dungeon deeper than where Dalgor was kept. A cell with thick iron bars, a damp earthen floor, and stifling air.

The cell door was thrown open. Dayat was shoved inside. His body hit the wet ground. The shackles remained on his hands.

"You’re lucky the Count still wants you alive," one of the guards said, his voice dripping with hatred. "If it weren’t for that, you’d be dead where you stood."

Dayat didn’t answer. He heard the iron door slam shut, the lock turn, and the footsteps retreat.

Now he was alone. In the dark. Without Dola. Without weapons. Without anything.

He sat up, leaning his back against the cold stone wall. The shackles on his hands were heavy.

In the dark cell, he clenched his fists. The iron shackles groaned softly.

In the hallway above, Alaric walked slowly toward his private chambers. Dola followed behind him, her footsteps silent, her eyes staring blankly at the floor.

"Finally," Alaric muttered, opening his bedroom door. "The most precious collection. I’ve wanted you for so long."

Dola didn’t answer. She stood at the threshold, waiting for orders.

Alaric went inside and sat in a carved wooden chair by the window. The crystal lamp beside him glowed brightly, illuminating his satisfied face.

"Come here," he said.

Dola stepped inside. She stood in the center of the room, her gaze still hollow.

Alaric scrutinized her from head to toe. "Beautiful. Truly beautiful. I’ve never had a collection quite this stunning."

He stood up and walked around Dola. "You know, I saw you before. Back when you were with that man. I knew immediately you were special."

Dola didn’t move.

"Blue eyes. Silver hair. A body that..." Alaric smirked. "But more importantly, you’re no ordinary human, are you? You’re... something far more interesting."

He stopped in front of Dola, staring into her empty eyes. "But it doesn’t matter. Whatever you are, you belong to me now."

Alaric laughed with pure satisfaction.

"Stay here," he said. "I’ll be back later."

He walked out, closed the door, and locked it.

Dola stood in the center of the room, alone. Her eyes were still hollow. But at the corner of her lips, something moved. So subtle, it was almost invisible.

A smile.