My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 152: The Adventurer’s Guild and Dalgor’s News
The Bakasa market was exactly as it had always been.
When Dayat first set foot in this city, the coal smoke and the pungent stench of trash heaps lining the streets had nearly made him choke. Now? The smell remained the same. Perhaps even worse. But he no longer cared.
Dayat walked through the crowd with steady strides, his hood obscuring almost his entire face. Dola followed beside him, occasionally brushing his arm to ensure they weren’t separated. Her slender frame was hidden beneath a drab, dusty cloak she had intentionally chosen—not her old white cape, nor her futuristic bodysuit. Now, she was just one of the dozens of hooded travelers crowding the market.
"What was the first thing you said when you saw this market?" Dola asked softly, her eyes observing a merchant selling hanging meat to their left.
Dayat smiled thinly beneath his hood. "I said, ’Why does it smell like a wet market mixed with a tofu factory?’"
"And I replied, ’Sir Dayat must adapt.’"
"Well, I’ve adapted now." Dayat glanced at Dola. "But you’re the one who’s changed."
Dola didn’t answer. But the corner of her lips lifted slightly. Her hand reached for Dayat’s, squeezing it briefly before letting go. It was a small gesture she would never have made in the past.
They navigated through the narrow alleys they had traversed when they first arrived in Bakasa. Dayat remembered the way perfectly—turn left at the roast beef stall with the bald owner, go straight until the old well with murky water, then turn right. At the end of the road, the Adventurer’s Guild building stood firm like a fortress.
"Still the same," Dayat muttered. Grey stone walls, a thick wooden door studded with large nails, and a weathered signboard hanging above. The Bakasa Adventurer’s Guild.
But outside, something was different.
Before, only a few adventurers would loiter in front of the guild. Now, there were at least ten. Some sat on wooden benches, some leaned against the walls, and others sat on the ground sharpening their blades. Their weaponry varied—swords, axes, short spears, even one man with a large bow on his back.
Dayat stood a short distance away, observing. "It’s crowded."
Dola scanned them quickly. "Ordinary adventurers. Three different groups, based on their gear and seating positions. They don’t look like guards or informants."
"How can you tell?"
"By the way they sit. If they were guards, they’d be monitoring the entrance. These people are more focused on each other."
Dayat nodded. "Good. Let’s go."
They walked past the adventurers. Occasionally, someone would glance their way—two hooded figures, nothing unusual. In a city as large as Bakasa, there was nothing suspicious about it. An adventurer with a scar on his cheek was drinking ale; his eyes followed Dola for a moment before returning to his glass.
The Guild door opened with a heavy thud. Dayat took a deep breath.
Inside, the atmosphere was even livelier. Laughter and conversation echoed throughout the spacious hall. Several adventurers were queuing at the reception desk, either submitting proof of completion or taking on new quests. A large bulletin board on the right wall was plastered with worn-out papers. In a corner, a group of adventurers sat in a circle, laughing at a story told by one of their own.
Dayat stood at the back of the line with Dola beside him. He kept his head down, ensuring his hood provided enough cover.
In front of him, a burly adventurer with flowing blonde hair turned around. His eyes scanned Dayat briefly, then shifted to Dola. "Where from, friend? Just arrived?"
"From the north," Dayat answered curtly.
"Long mission?" The man leaned his body against a wooden pillar next to the queue.
"Long enough."
"You alone?" His eyes flicked back to Dola.
"No," Dayat replied flatly.
The man shrugged, not pushing further. "Be careful if you just got here. Bakasa has been heating up lately."
Dayat turned his head. "Heating up?"
The man leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "The Inquisition. They’re looking for anyone connected to the Maiden’s emissary. Word is, some people have been detained." He paused, looking around. "I heard Dalgor, the Guild’s head artisan, was taken too."
Dayat’s blood ran cold. His expression remained stoic beneath the hood. "Dalgor? The one on the second floor?"
"Yeah. It’s been a week. They say Count Alaric himself ordered it. They claim Dalgor once helped that emissary." The man sighed. "A shame. He’s a good man."
"Thanks for the info."
The man nodded and moved forward as the line advanced. Dayat and Dola followed. He didn’t speak, but Dola could feel the tension in his shoulders.
The line moved slowly. Each adventurer ahead had their own business—picking up new quests, claiming rewards, or just asking questions. Dayat waited patiently. Beneath his hood, his eyes scanned the room.
Nothing had changed. The reception desk was in the same spot. Behind it sat Nyssia, with her characteristic grumpy face. Her blonde hair was combed neatly back, and the pen in her hand danced across a ledger. Her eyes moved quickly from one adventurer to the next; nothing escaped her notice.
Finally, it was their turn.
Dayat stepped forward. Nyssia didn’t look up—her eyes were still fixed on the book. "What do you need?"
Dayat lowered his hood slightly. Just enough to reveal his face. Just enough for Nyssia to see.
Nyssia froze.
The pen in her hand stopped. Her eyes widened. Her usually cold and grumpy face turned pale. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Dayat pressed a forefinger to his lips. Silence.
Nyssia swallowed hard. Her eyes darted left and right, making sure no one was watching. Other adventurers were busy with their own affairs. Someone was laughing in the corner. Someone else was studying the quest board. No one was paying attention to the reception desk.
Dayat quickly slid two gold coins into Nyssia’s palm. Their weight felt significant. Nyssia caught a glimpse of them—two pure gold coins stamped with the royal seal—and tucked them into a drawer with a swift, almost invisible motion.
Her voice trembled slightly as she asked again, "What... what do you need?"
Dayat lowered his voice. "I’m looking for Dalgor. Where is he?"
Nyssia mirrored his low tone, her eyes darting around once more. "He’s being detained. Count Alaric’s orders. Anyone linked to the Maiden’s emissary is being imprisoned."
"Where?"
"The dungeon beneath Alaric’s mansion," Nyssia answered quickly. "I don’t know the details inside. But there are many guards. The mansion is heavily guarded. High walls, iron gates, and the guards rotate every four hours."
"Any other info?"
Nyssia shook her head. "Only that. The Inquisition... they come here often now, digging for information." She stopped, swallowing hard. "You’re insane if you’re planning to go there, Dayat. He’s a Count. His territory is guarded by dozens of men."
"I’m used to it." Dayat’s expression didn’t waver. "One more thing. I’m looking for some street kids. Four of them. Riri, Tomas, Sany, and Loy."
Nyssia frowned. "Never heard of them. Street kids don’t usually come in here. Try the Lower District, or the alleys around the market."
Dayat had expected that answer. He nodded. "Thanks."
"Are you really going there?" Nyssia asked one last time, her voice barely a whisper.
"Forget you ever saw me."
Nyssia fell silent, then nodded slowly. Her hand gripped the pen again, trying to look normal. Dayat pulled up his hood.
They turned and walked away. Dola remained at Dayat’s side, not saying a word.
The Guild doors closed behind them. The afternoon air in Bakasa felt hotter than before. Dayat walked quickly, moving away from the crowd toward a narrow alley between two closed stalls.
"He’s been imprisoned," he said, his voice flat. But Dola could see his jaw tightening. "Alaric imprisoned Dalgor."
Dola reached for his hand. "We will get him back."
Dayat leaned his back against the grimy brick wall. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Dozens of guards. High walls. Iron gates." He opened them. "You heard what she said?"
"I heard." Dola stood before him. "The guards rotate every four hours. That’s a weakness. They have a schedule."
"It’s not enough."
"I have the data for Alaric’s mansion. It’s an old building; the structures from thirty years ago are still stored in my database. There might be an alternative route."
Dayat stared at Dola. "Are you sure?"
"I am the Maiden of Reason. I have data on almost every important building across the seven kingdoms." Dola smiled thinly. "At least those from the era before I was sealed."
"Does Alaric’s mansion include that?"
"He’s a Count. His building would certainly be recorded."
Dayat sighed. "We need time. Tonight?"
"It doesn’t have to be tonight." Dola gripped his hand. "We need preparation. Maps, gear, and an exit route. If we rush, the risk of failure is too high."
Dayat went silent. The rage in his chest was still smoldering, but Dola’s logic was sound. He couldn’t be reckless. It wasn’t just his life at stake, but Dola’s and Dalgor’s as well.
"You’re right," he said finally. "Let’s get everything ready first."
They emerged from the alley and returned to the market bustle. Their steps were quick, wasting no time. Dayat knew exactly where to go—the Middle District, where he had once rented a room. Perhaps there was still a cheap inn that didn’t ask too many questions.
The streets began to clear. Merchants were packing up their stalls. The smell of evening food was replaced by the scent of newly lit lamp oil.
In a small alley, Dayat stopped in front of an inn with a weathered wooden sign. He knocked on the door. An old woman with weary eyes opened it.
"Staying?" her voice was raspy.
"One room."
"Two copper coins a night."
Dayat produced the coins. The woman took them, inspected them briefly, and nodded. "Room’s on the second floor. Keep it quiet."
They went up. The room was small—just a wooden bed, a small table, a single chair, and a tiny window overlooking the back alley. But it was enough.
Dayat closed the door and sat on the bed. He closed his eyes. The green gash under his skin glowed dimly. In his hands, several objects slowly materialized: a thin nylon rope, a small flashlight, a pair of black gloves, and a small tool resembling a tweezer with a dimly glowing tip.
"Rope for climbing if needed," he said, laying them all out on the bed. "Flashlight for the dark. Gloves so we don’t leave prints."
Dola picked up the small tool. "What is this?"
"An electric lockpick. For standard locks." Dayat smiled thinly.
"What else do we need?"
"A map. You said you have the mansion data."
Dola sat in the chair and closed her eyes. A faint blue light appeared behind her lids. Moments later, she opened them.
"Alaric’s mansion was built 127 years ago. Original structure: three floors, one basement. Main walls are stone, one meter thick. Iron gates at the front. There is a back door leading to the kitchen, but old data suggests it’s frequently used for logistics deliveries."
"And now?"
"Unknown. It may have changed. But gaps always exist." Dola looked at Dayat. "We need observation. We need to see the guard patterns, the accessible doors, and the blind spots ourselves."
Dayat nodded. "Tonight we scout. We don’t go in, just look."
"Agreed."
The night grew deeper. Outside, the lamps began to flicker out one by one. Dayat stood by the window, watching the dark sky.
"Nyssia was shocked to see you," Dola said suddenly.
"Yeah."
"She was afraid."
"Naturally. I’m a fugitive."
Dola rose from the chair and walked over. "But she still gave us the information."
"Because of the money?"
"Maybe. Or maybe because she remembers you being an adventurer here. You helped a lot of people back then."
Dayat didn’t answer. Dola stood beside him, also staring out the window.
"Are you angry?" she asked.
"Angry."
"At Alaric?"
"Yeah. But also at myself. I was gone too long. Dalgor was imprisoned, and I’m only finding out now."
Dola reached for his hand. "We will get him back."
"I know."
"Tonight we scout. Tomorrow we go in."
Dayat turned. "Tomorrow?"
"We need a day to refine the plan based on what we see tonight. Rushing won’t help Dalgor."
Dayat paused, then sighed. "You’re right."
Dola smiled. "I am always right."
"Quite confident, aren’t you?"
"Because you are my husband. If I am not confident, who will be?"
Dayat chuckled softly—for the first time that day. He squeezed Dola’s hand back.
In the distance, the lights of the Elite District began to flicker on. There, in Count Alaric’s mansion, Dalgor was waiting.
Dayat took a deep breath.
"Let’s go. Let’s see what we’re up against."
