Chapter 30: Chapter 30: Dinner Etiquette and The Golden Serpent

That morning, Dayat realized that being a hero of the poor had unique consequences.

When he left the inn to buy breakfast, he didn’t have to pay.

An old apple seller insisted on stuffing three red apples into Dayat’s hands. “Take them, Savior Son! These are the sweetest ones!”

A cobbler offered a free polish for Dayat’s muddy boots. “So the Engineer’s steps may be even more gallant!”

Even the street children (Kancil’s friends) ran behind him, mimicking Dayat holding an imaginary Crossbow.

Dayat returned to the room with hands full of free food, his face flushed red between embarrassment and pride.

“Dol,” Dayat said, placing the apples on the table. “We’re famous. They call me ’The Engineer’. They call you ’The Soup Goddess’. This is… a bit much.”

Dola was sitting by the window, sewing a loose button on Dayat’s shirt (using leftover Iron-Silk thread, making that button impossible to come off for a lifetime).

“Reputation Analysis: Positive – Revered among the Lower Class,” Dola reported calmly. “This is a social defense asset. If any party wishes to harm us in the Slums territory, the citizens will be our eyes and ears.”

“I guess. But it feels like a burden,” Dayat bit into his apple. “I just want to survive, not become mayor.”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

A knock was heard. Not Kancil’s noisy rapping. It was a heavy, official knock.

Dayat opened the door. A courier in an Adventurer’s Guild uniform stood there, panting.

“Mr. Hidayat? Master Dalgor summons you to the workshop. Immediately. He said: ’Don’t bring tools’.”

Dayat and Dola looked at each other. Dalgor usually didn’t summon via official courier unless it was an emergency.

“Okay. We’re going.”

Dalgor’s workshop was strangely quiet today. No hammer sounds, no hissing steam. The Golem assistants stood still in the corners.

Dalgor sat at his usually messy workbench, which was now cleared. In front of him lay a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax.

Dalgor’s face looked tense. He didn’t greet them with a shout as usual.

“Sit,” Dalgor ordered briefly.

Dayat and Dola sat on the wooden bench in front of the desk.

“You two made a commotion,” Dalgor said, fingers tapping the table. “Gossip about exploding arrows killing a Golem. Gossip about a folk feast in the Slums. And gossip about the precision metal molds you made for me.”

“That’s good business, right, Master?” Dayat asked carefully.

“Good business attracts attention. And attention in Bakasa can mean money… or a coffin.”

Dalgor pushed the envelope toward Dayat.

“This arrived this morning. Delivered personally by the head butler of the Viperion Family.”

Dayat took the envelope. The paper was thick, textured expensively, and smelled of lavender. The wax seal depicted a Snake Coiling around a Sword.

“Viperion Family?” Dayat frowned.

“Data Analysis: House Viperion,” Dola immediately chimed in. “Count-level Noble Family. Rulers of the Trade and Military Logistics District. Known as the second-largest donor to the Gear-Breaker Church, yet also the primary shareholder in the illegal arms market.”

Dalgor nodded, impressed (and a bit horrified) by Dola’s knowledge.

“Correct. Count Alaric Viperion invites you to dinner. Tonight. At his private mansion in the High District.”

Dayat’s heart stopped for a second. “Dinner? With a Noble? What for?”

“He heard about the ’Street Engineer’ who can make weapons without magic and mass production methods,” Dalgor said seriously. “He wants to see if you are… useful.”

“What if I refuse?”

Dalgor laughed hollowly. “Refusing a Count’s invitation is equal to insulting the family crest. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be found floating in the river, and the Guild won’t be able to protect you because this is politics, not adventurer business.”

Dayat swallowed hard. “So I have to go?”

“You must. And you must be careful. Alaric is like his crest. A snake. He will entertain you with the best wine, while looking for an opening to eat you alive.”

Dalgor looked at Dola sharply.

“Especially your wife. Rumors say she is too beautiful for a hobo. And Alaric… he is a collector of ’beautiful things’.”

Dola didn’t flinch. Her face remained flat, but Dayat could feel the tension in the air.

“We will go,” Dola said suddenly. Her voice was firm. “Avoiding will only validate suspicions. We must face this frontally.”

Dalgor sighed. “Good luck. I’ve prepared a rental carriage. Don’t embarrass the Guild.”

Back at the inn room, the atmosphere turned into Panic Mode.

“Dol! What do we do?!” Dayat paced back and forth. “Noble dinner? I still make a mess eating with my hands! I don’t know which is the salad fork and which is the meat fork!”

“Calm down, Master,” Dola stood in the center of the room. Her eyes shone brightly, processing massive amounts of data. “Table Manners are simple algorithms. Order of utensil usage, sitting posture, permitted conversation topics. I am downloading Data Package: Brassvale Kingdom Noble Etiquette Protocol Version 4.0 from the library data remnants.”

“You can download it, but what about me?”

“Master only needs to mimic me. I will give micro-signals. If I raise my glass, Master raises his glass. If I smile, Master smiles.”

Dola walked toward Dayat. She held Dayat’s shoulders, looking deep into his eyes.

“The main problem is not etiquette, Master. The main problem is My Disguise.”

“The High District has inspection gates with Level 5 Mana Detection Crystals. The sensitivity level is far above the city gates. Deep Hibernate Mode (feigning paralysis) will not work because we are invited as guests, not patients.”

“Then what?” Dayat went pale. “If they find out you’re a machine…”

“I must perform Total Biological Emulation.”

Dola stepped back.

“I will divert 80% of my processing power to simulate micro-biological functions. I will heat my skin surface to a stable 36.5 degrees Celsius. I will pump coolant fluid with a normal human heart rhythm. I will simulate facial micro-muscle movements, involuntary blinking, and even…”

Dola took a deep breath—a very natural chest movement.

“…irregular breathing patterns due to nervousness.”

Dayat saw the change. Dola, who usually stood stiffly upright like a statue, suddenly dropped her shoulders slightly. Her eyes blinked more often. Her lips trembled slightly. She no longer looked perfect. She looked… alive.

“Crazy…” Dayat whispered. “You really look human now.”

“Side effect: My combat and tactical analysis capabilities will drop drastically as RAM is used for acting,” Dola said (with a more tonal voice, not monotone). “If a fight occurs, my reaction will be slow. Master must be the primary protector.”

“Roger. I’ll protect you tonight.”

“Now, clothing. We cannot wear adventurer clothes to the Count’s house. That is an insult.”

They broke into their remaining funds. Still quite a lot. Dayat ran to a second-hand boutique (but rich people’s second-hand) on the district border.

By evening, the transformation was complete.

Dayat wore a black frock coat that was a bit tight at the shoulders but made him look dashing. His hair was combed neatly (by Dola) using pomade.

And Dola…

Dayat held his breath when Dola came out of the bathroom.

She wore a simple dark blue evening gown (matching her eyes) with a high neckline that was modest yet elegant. Her silver hair was tied up in a neat bun, leaving a few strands falling to frame her face. She wore no expensive jewelry, but her presence itself was like a jewel.

“Visual Analysis?” Dola asked, tilting her head slightly in a shy manner (simulated).

“Beautiful,” Dayat said honestly. “Very. If that Count tries anything, I’ll poke his eyes out with a fork.”

Dola smiled. A smile programmed to look sweet and submissive.

“Let us depart, My Husband. The carriage is waiting.”

In front of the shabby inn, a carriage that contrasted sharply with the surroundings was parked. The carriage was shiny black with gold carvings. On its door, the Golden Serpent Coiled around a Sword crest shone under the streetlamp.

The coachman wore a neat uniform and looked at the surroundings with disgust.

Dayat led Dola out. The Slums residents who saw them gaped. “The Engineer” and “The Soup Goddess” looked like a lost prince and princess.

“Please, Sir, Madam,” the coachman said coldly, opening the door.

Dayat helped Dola up, then followed.

The door closed. BAM.

The carriage interior was luxurious. Red velvet seats, silk curtains, and the scent of sandalwood. But to Dayat, it felt like a luxury prison.

The carriage began to move. Leaving the muddy streets of the Slums, passing the Middle District gates, and finally climbing the uphill road toward the High District.

The higher they went, the cleaner the air became. Factory smoke disappeared, replaced by bright crystal street lamps. Slum houses were replaced by white stone mansions with spacious gardens.

But Dayat felt nauseous.

“Dol, you’re very warm,” Dayat whispered, holding Dola’s hand.

“Skin temperature maintained at 37 degrees,” Dola replied softly. She leaned on Dayat’s shoulder. Her eyes closed as if sleeping, but Dayat knew she was conserving processor power to face the High District gate inspection.

The carriage stopped briefly at the barrier gate.

“Routine inspection,” a guard’s voice was heard from outside. Purple light swept over the carriage (magic).

Dayat held his breath. He squeezed Dola’s hand.

The light passed over Dayat’s body (reading weak Mana). Then passed over Dola’s body.

Dola didn’t move. Her artificial heart beat normally. Her body heat was normal. No active magic signals.

“Clear. Proceed, Viperion Carriage.”

The carriage moved again.

Dayat let out a long breath. “Passed.”

“Not yet,” Dola whispered, opening her eyes. “The real test is at the dinner table. Remember, Master. Do not slurp your soup. And do not talk about technology unless asked.”

The carriage finally stopped in front of a giant iron gate with a two-headed snake statue on top. A majestic Gothic-style mansion stood arrogantly behind it.

The carriage door was opened from the outside.

An old butler with a flat face bowed.

“Welcome to the Viperion Residence. Count Viperion awaits in the dining room.”

Dayat stepped down, then extended his hand to Dola.

As Dola’s foot touched the marble ground of the mansion’s courtyard, she was no longer Dola the AI. She was Dola Nur Mustafidl, a beautiful, mysterious, and very convincing wife.

They stepped into the snake’s mouth.

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