My Unique Adaptation Skill in Another world-Chapter 46 - 45: Stone and Memory

They returned to Tidebeak’s lounge and stepped through a different gate. The temperature dropped the moment they crossed.

They emerged in Ironhold’s lounge, similar polished wood and comfortable seating, but the attendant here was dwarven. Through the windows, stone dominated everything.

Cold mountain air hit Leo as they emerged. Through the windows, stone dominated everything. Gray buildings carved into the mountainside. Steep streets climbing in layers. Narrow bridges stretching across deep gorges.

"Welcome to ironhold" Iori said. "Hallmark of history ."

The city rose in terraces, each level built atop the last. Some sections looked newly reinforced, cleaner, sharper. Others carried scars that had never been fully erased. Scorch marks climbed along walls. Impact craters had been filled, but the stone still told the story beneath.

Few people walked the streets at this hour. Those who did moved with purpose, heads forward, steps steady. No wasted motion.

They followed a path upward. Past shuttered buildings. Sealed tunnel entrances marked with warning signs Leo could not read. Areas that felt deliberately abandoned, not forgotten but avoided.

"What happened here?" Leo asked.

"Everything." Iori said, her tone was as a matter-of-fact. "Ironhold has been besieged four times. It survived all of them. Parts of this city existed before the merge. Others were rebuilt within the last century. You can tell the difference if you know what to look for."

"The merge." Leo filed the term away. Another piece of history he didn’t know yet, but couldn’t ask not to show the large gap in his knowledge as a supposed inhabitant of this world.

A fortress loomed ahead, massive and immovable. Built for war, not display. Mana lanterns shone along its walls, casting long shadows across the stone.

The guard at the gate recognized Iori immediately and stepped aside without question.

---

Inside, the fortress had been repurposed into a library.

Where weapons once hung, shelves now stood. Books, scrolls, and tablets filled every space, some ancient enough to crumble if handled carelessly. Knowledge layered over the bones of war.

Even here, damage remained. Sections roped off. Stone cracked along old fault lines. Signs marked structural instability, their age obvious.

"This time we’ll be focusing on history, and falsifications as part of introducing you to the politics between races, especially Oni and Humans."

Iori led him deeper without hesitation. She knew the layout well.

"The Empire calls itself progressive now," she said, placing several texts on a table. "Multi-racial. Cooperative. They’ll talk about trade agreements, cultural exchange, and so on."

She opened the first book. Clean script. Official record.

"This version says initial conflicts were ’regrettable misunderstandings.’ That Oni explorers were mistaken for threats. That blood harvesting was ’limited incidents by rogue elements.’"

She opened another. The script rougher. The tone sharper.

"This one says fifty thousand Oni died over ten years. That the empire built facilities specifically to extract blood. That hunts were organized, sanctioned, and profitable."

She opened specific parts, pushing the books towards Leo.

"Oni blood has special properties, when consumed, it can temporarily boost vitality, physical ability and libido. The stronger the Oni it’s extracted from and refined the greater the effects. Culturally giving it is one of the most sacred acts an Oni can do for another."

Leo read both. Same events. Completely different narratives.

"Which one is true?"

"Both," Iori said. "And neither. The Empire reduces scale. While the Oni’s remembers the pain of loss. The Truth sits somewhere between. But look here."

"But between that first conflict which became much more than just about blood harvesting and the end of the second one, there’s some holes in the records"

She turned to a treaty document.

Midway through a paragraph, the text shifted. Not gradually. Abruptly. A clean break where something had been removed.

"That is not a translation issue," she said. "Something was cut out."

She pulled more texts. Patterns repeated.

References to "unified relics" with no explanation. Locations marked as critical without context. Entire spans of years missing across multiple sources, then resuming with different phrasing, different structure.

"Someone edited history, maybe even a group seeing how large of an effort would be needed for this," Iori said. " They left enough for continuity. But removed anything that might reopen conflict."

"Why would they do that?"

"Maybe because forgetting is easier than forgiving, or it could be for other reasons."

She closed the books.

"My mother remembers fragments. Stories from elders who lived through it. They all say the same thing. There was something more. Something that triggered the second wave of war." She paused. "But when they try to explain it, the details slip. Like trying to hold onto a dream after waking."

Leo frowned. "That should not be possible, for everyone to have just... forgotten."

"No. It should not."

She stepped away from the table.

"The Empire wants stability, to move passed their sins. Some have. And most people accept that version of history. But the families tied to the blood trade still exist, that even expanding into other races and the special properties their physiology might hold, but much less openly than with the Oni. They are still powerful operating in the shadows. Some Oni have not forgotten. They do not forgive easily, rightfully so."

Leo thought about the capital before the Jubilee attack. The tension he had felt between the races.

"Is that why the Jubilee attack worked?" he asked. "Because the division is still there?"

"Yes." Iori moved toward the exit. "The cult did not create conflict. It found existing fractures, people who shared interests, and pushed them wider."

They left the library behind.

"Progress is real," she added. "But it was built on graves and silence. Remember that."

---

They climbed higher, the air thinning as they went. Leo’s breath fogged with each exhale.

The mountain temple sat carved directly into the rock. Precise construction. No wasted space. No ornament without purpose. Older than the rest of the city, older than the wars that had scarred it.

From its steps, the entire valley spread below.

Ironhold layered across the mountainside. Forge fires burned in clusters. Smoke rose in slow columns. Beyond, the mountain range stretched endlessly.

Iori sat on the steps. Leo joined her.

For a while, neither spoke. Only the distant rhythm of hammer on metal filled the silence.

"The Chaos War is not just at the borders," Iori said eventually.

Leo glanced at her.

"People have been made to think otherwise to reduce panic." She kept her gaze on the valley. "Most think it is contained. Transcendents fighting demons far away. Safe distance."

"It is not?"

"No." Her voice was steady. "Sometimes reality thins in the wrong place. A tunnel breaks into something it should not. A village begins to change. Slowly at first. Then faster."

Leo felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air.

"Low-tier demons are not intelligent," she continued. "But they do not need to be. They are fast. Violent. By the time anyone notices, people are already dead."

"And the Empire?"

"Handles it quietly. No panic. No widespread knowledge, so does every other races, they might not agree on everything or like each other, but they know not to let such information spread." She paused. "My mother, and a few others, fight at the main fronts. Because if they did not, those incidents would not stay small."

Leo understood the implication.

They would not be incidents. They would be invasions.

Silence returned, heavier this time.

"Do you know the worst part is, about being First House heir?" Iori said.

She stared into the distance.

"Everyone expects me to match her. Become a transcendent. Match her Legend." Her voice softened. "I am eight-star and still just twenty-seven. I know that already makes that possibility a likelihood. But not her, I’ve been Eight stars since seventeen, that’s ten years. I might be considered an anomaly but she’s even much more than that. And if House Arakami needs more than I can give..."

Leo shifted closer.

"You are not supposed to be her."

"I have heard that before."

"That does not make it wrong." He held her gaze. "The version of you I see, the one who shows what things actually are, not what people pretend they are, that matters, just as you asked me what I wanted to build, you should ask yourself the same, for yourself, not anyone else."

She studied him for a moment.

"You do not dismiss things," she said quietly. "I respect that."

She reached for his jacket. "Can I?"

He handed it over. She draped it around both of them, knowing fully well that she could have simply heated herself up. It closed the space between them.

Her head rested against his shoulder.

They stayed that way, watching the valley. Forge fires flickering. Cold air pressing in around shared warmth.

Time passed without measure.

Eventually, she stood.

"One more place, I want to show you something."

---

The artisan quarter pulsed with heat and sound.

Forges burned bright. Sparks rose into the night. The steady rhythm of hammer strikes echoed through the district.

Dwarven smiths worked beside human craftsmen. Oni warriors stood nearby, testing balance, edge, durability. Cooperation forged over time. Not effortless. Not perfect. But functional.

An older dwarf spotted Iori and raised a hand.

"Lady Arakami, over here."

His beard was singed at the ends. His hands scarred from decades of work.

He guided them to a workstation where a blade was taking shape.

"Watch," Iori told Leo.

The dwarf spoke as he worked. Not lecturing. Explaining.

Material mattered. Timing mattered. Pressure, heat, patience. Each step built on the last.

"Rush the process, it fails," he said. "Respect it, it endures."

When the demonstration ended, he reached beneath the bench and pulled out a small knife.

Simple but artistic design, even it’s scabbard, more ornate than functional. Flawless execution.

He handed it to Iori, who turned and handed it to Leo.

"I had this made earlier for you, as a way of commemorating tonight."

Leo accepted it carefully. "Thank you."

---

They walked back through the quieter parts of the city, back to the lounge they had come from, they reached the gate.

Warm air spilled through the portal ahead. Light. Music. Movement.

"One more city," Iori said.

"Where to?"

"Emberfall." A hint of amusement touched her voice. "A festival city."

They stepped forward together.