My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 39: Scorched Trails and the Shadow of the Hunter

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Scorched Trails and the Shadow of the Hunter

The white light wasn’t just a flash; it was a kinetic scream that tore the fabric of reality.

When the iron projectile exited the twin Mithril barrels of Udin Merepet, it didn’t just travel; it obliterated the space in front of it. At hypersonic speeds, the friction between the metal and the atmosphere created a localized vacuum, turning the air into a searing tunnel of plasma. The sound—a bone-shattering sonic boom—arrived a heartbeat later. It was a roar so violent that every window within a hundred-meter radius disintegrated into crystalline dust. Street debris, stalls, and even the heavy paving stones were hurled into the sky, reaching as high as the distant bell towers.

Dayat didn’t see the impact. He only felt the consequence.

The recoil of a weapon that lacked any proper inertial dampening was like being kicked in the chest by a spectral giant. He was catapulted backward, his body skipping across the cobblestones like a flat stone on a lake. A sickening, wet crack echoed in his ears—a sound more terrifying than the explosion itself. His right shoulder had been forcibly driven out of its socket by the sheer backward force of the railgun.

"AARRGGHH!"

Dayat collapsed into a heap of limbs and torn leather, his vision spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of gray smoke and purple sparks. His ears rang with a piercing, agonizing whine that drowned out the world. Every nerve in his right arm was on fire, sending waves of white-hot agony that threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness.

In his hands, or what remained of his grip, Udin Merepet was now an unrecognizable husk of slag. The steel-Mithril alloy barrels had reached their thermal limit; the tips were melted and warped like spent candles, dripping molten metal onto the scorched ground. The acrid stench of ozone and burnt insulation filled the air. The weapon was dead—a single-use god-tier tool that had burnt its own soul to deliver one impossible shot.

But Dayat’s eyes, blurred by tears and dust, searched for only one thing: Was Gravion dead?

As the dust and ionized air slowly thinned, a grim, impossible reality emerged from the crater.

Gravion was not a smear on the pavement. The High Mage was still standing, though his face was a mask of ghostly pallor and his magnificent steel-gray cloak hung in scorched tatters. He had been saved, not by his own magic, but by a wall of steel that had appeared at the final millisecond.

Joldric.

The giant knight stood with his knees buckled, his boots buried inches deep into the stone from the impact. His legendary tower shield—The Wall of Viperion—which was said to be unbreakable, was split clean down the middle. The projectile had pierced ten centimeters of Archbishop-blessed steel, slammed into Joldric’s breastplate, and only stopped after crushing the giant’s ribs and embedding itself into the heavy armor.

Fresh, dark blood dripped from the gaps in Joldric’s helm, sizzling as it hit the heated armor.

"Insane..." Bara hissed. He scrambled up from the ground, his eyes wide with a terror that surpassed anything he had felt in the goblin dens. He stared at the cloven shield, the symbol of the Kingdom’s invincibility, now lying in two useless pieces. "What kind of weapon... what kind of monster creates something that can split a blessed Aegis?"

"Run..." Dayat’s voice was a mere wheeze, a desperate plea for survival.

Gravion, finally snapping out of the catatonic shock of nearly being erased from existence, let out a shriek. It wasn’t the voice of a dignified mage; it was the high-pitched, fury-filled scream of a man who had seen his own death and hated it.

"KILL THEM! JOLDRIC! VORON! DO NOT LET THEM BREATHE ANOTHER SECOND!"

"Dola!" Lina shouted, her voice trembling but resolute. She raised her cracked staff, her Mana flickering as she began a rapid incantation. "Take Dayat! Bara, cover the rear! We move now!"

Dola didn’t need a tactical analysis to know the odds. Even though her internal cooling systems were screaming and her biological muscles felt like they were being cooked from the inside out by the Railgun’s energy leak, she moved. In one fluid, powerful motion, she snatched Dayat’s limp body from the ground. She ignored his weight, ignored the searing, jagged pain in her own overextended legs.

"Hold on tight, Master!"

Dola ran. She didn’t run like a human; she moved like a damaged but still lethal war machine. Her footsteps were heavy, rhythmic thuds that cracked the cobblestones as she surged through the thick shroud of mist Lina had conjured. Bara and Lina followed close behind, their faces pale masks of terror as they repeatedly glanced back at the silhouette of Joldric, who was slowly, painfully pulling himself out of the crater.

Behind them, Joldric’s roar echoed through the alleys—the sound of a wounded primeval monster calling for blood.

Fifteen minutes later. A dead-end alley hidden behind a pile of discarded junk carts and rusted steam pipes.

The air here was stagnant, smelling of rot and old iron, but it was the only sanctuary they had. Bara and Lina were doubled over, gasping for air that felt too thin. Dayat was slumped against a damp brick wall, his face a ghostly white, his eyes glazed with the throbbing agony of his dislocated shoulder.

Dola knelt before him immediately. Her eyes flickered red for a second, performing a localized medical scan.

"Anterior dislocation," Dola reported. Her voice was stuttering slightly—a chilling audio glitch caused by the internal damage she had sustained. "The humeral head is wedged. I must reset it now, Master. The longer we wait, the more nerve damage occurs."

"Do it," Dayat growled through clenched teeth. He grabbed his own collar, biting down on the fabric to keep from screaming.

CRACK!

The sound was sharp and sickening. Dayat’s body arched, a muffled cry escaping his throat as his shoulder snapped back into its socket. Cold sweat poured down his face, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches. The immediate pressure was gone, but the pain remained, a pulsing, rhythmic reminder of his fragility.

"The weapon?" Bara asked, gesturing to the hunk of twisted, cooling metal Dayat was still dragging in his left hand.

"Total wreck," Dayat replied, his voice a hollow rasp. He let the remains of Udin Merepet clatter to the ground. It was no longer a weapon; it was just scrap metal, a testament to the fact that the materials of Aethera were too primitive to house the Source Code of Earth. "It’s gone, Bara. I can’t manifest another one. My energy... it’s at zero."

"We’re in the deep end now," Lina whispered, peeking out from behind a stack of crates. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to grip her staff with both. "Did you see Joldric? He took a direct hit from that thing and he’s still standing. And now... listen."

TENG... TENG... TENG...

The city tower bells began to toll—a slow, heavy rhythm that signaled a Level 1 Military Emergency. The entire city of Bakasa was being put into a state of total lockdown.

"They will seal the main gates with the Aegis Barrier," Dola said, her eyes flickering as she processed the city’s defense protocols. "The North Gate is a fortress. The South Gate is the military barracks. Our only logical exit is the East Gate—it’s under repair, the barrier is thin there. But..."

"But Alaric isn’t a fool," Bara finished the thought. "He’s got hunters. And they’re already in the streets."

As if the universe was confirming Dola’s fears, a black throwing knife streaked down from the darkened rooftops above.

ZING!

The blade thudded into the wooden cart inches from Lina’s boot. The tip of the knife dripped with a thick, neon-green fluid that hissed as it touched the wood. Nerve toxin.

"Target located," a smooth, cold voice drifted from the shadows above.

They looked up. Atop the jagged roofline stood a slender man in a skin-tight black cloak. His face was masked, leaving only a pair of snake-like, calculating eyes visible. Two curved daggers, black as obsidian, hung at his waist. Behind him, a dozen shadow warriors materialized silently out of the gloom.

"Voron..." Bara whispered, the color draining from his face. "Captain of the Viperion Assassin Unit. They say he can kill a man before his shadow even hits the ground."

Voron stared down at them, his gaze locking onto Dola with a predatory hunger. "Count Alaric wants the iron girl intact. She is far too valuable to break. As for the rest of you? The order is to carve you until you are unrecognizable."

"Run to the carriage!" Bara suddenly roared, unsheathing his greatsword. The heavy blade caught the faint moonlight, a shard of defiance in the dark. "Dalgor’s emergency carriage is at the three-way intersection! Just two blocks ahead! Lina and I will hold them off!"

"No! We fight together!" Dayat protested, trying to stand, but his head felt like it was being struck by a sledgehammer. Syntax Error. His Mana pool was a dry well. He couldn’t manifest so much as a sewing needle without risking a brain hemorrhage.

"You’re useless right now, kid!" Bara snapped, turning to look at Dayat. For the first time, there was no mockery in his voice—only a rare, protective anger. "You’re the brains of this operation, not the brawn! If you die here, our struggle against Alaric ends in a dirty alley. Take Dola and get out of here! Go to Verdia! Build a weapon ten times crazier than that one and come back to level this stinking city!"

Lina had already stepped beside Bara, her hands weaving a shimmering shield of light around them. She looked back at Dayat and Dola with a sad, resolute smile. "Go, Dayat. You have a greater destiny than dying in a slum. We’ll meet you on the other side."

Voron leaped down, his daggers spinning like lethal fans, followed by his squad of shadows.

Dola made a split-second calculation. Her logic was cold, but for the first time, it felt heavy.

[Master’s Condition: 0% Energy. Critical Physical Trauma.]

[Unit Dola’s Condition: Core Overheating. 42% Combat Efficiency.]

[Probability of Victory vs. Voron + Elite Squad: 0.0001%.]

[Conclusion: Withdrawal is the only survival path.]

Dola grabbed Dayat’s arm, her grip iron-firm. "Master, Bara is right. We must reach the carriage. Every second spent here decreases our survival probability by 15%."

"BUT THEY’LL DIE, DOLA!" Dayat screamed, his heart breaking as he watched Bara parry a strike that would have taken Lina’s head.

"THEY ARE CHOOSING TO BUY US THIS TIME!" Dola screamed back, her mechanical voice finally cracking into a raw, human shriek. "DO NOT LET THEIR DATA BE WASTED! DO NOT LET THEIR SACRIFICE BE FOR NOTHING!"

Dola didn’t wait for his consent. She forcibly pulled Dayat away, her strength overwhelming his weakened frame. They sprinted out of the alley, toward the intersection where Dalgor’s carriage was hidden.

Behind them, the sound of clashing steel and the roar of fireballs erupted. Bara was a whirlwind of black steel, holding back three assassins at once, his greatsword a barrier of raw power. Lina stood at his back, her light-spells illuminating the darkness like dying stars.

"DON’T LOOK BACK, DAYAT!" Bara’s voice roared through the night, a final command.

Dayat ran, hot tears of frustration and shame streaming down his face. He was the Innovator. He was the creator of doomsday weapons. But in this moment, he was nothing more than a runner, a coward protected by the lives of his friends. The feeling of helplessness burned in his chest hotter than any Syntax Overload.

They reached the intersection. The horse, a sturdy beast from Dalgor’s stable, whinnied nervously at the scent of blood and smoke.

"Get in!" Dola pushed Dayat into the driver’s seat and leaped into the back, her eyes scanning the rooftops for pursuers.

"Where... where are we going?!" Dayat sobbed, his hands shaking as he grabbed the reins.

"The East Gate! We must cross before Joldric stabilizes the barrier!"

Dayat lashed the horse with a scream of desperation. The carriage thundered across the cobblestone streets, leaving the slums behind. But in the hollow of his chest, Dayat knew that the price of this escape had only just begun to be paid. And the bill was being settled in the blood of the only people who had truly called him a friend.