The Worst White Snake in History Appears
Zanil Peze and Dr. Lobanton stepped through the open door. After a short while, a single snake, a vine plant, and a fragment of soul appeared in their place.
The white snake retched the moment it materialized.
“Kuweeeek!”
It smelled like something that would actually make you hurl.
I wasn’t the only one suffering. Isil twisted her body like someone who’d bitten into a lemon and grimaced. Plants could smell too—that much was clear from her reaction.
Judgment stench!
This was the smell of judgment. Back when the wyverns invaded the dungeon, Judgment had been doused in that horrific ampule of stench. No mistaking it.
Like fermenting skate beopjeonguk stuffed into fish guts and left at room temperature for a week.
“Kuweeeek—!”
-Don't overreact so wildly!
Pellelian barked. Surprisingly, to him, the smell was just a bit fishy.
A stench that only worked on monsters, huh. Vicious as hell, but not actual poison. That was the weird part.
-They definitely passed through here. Look at all the bugs swarming the floor.
Gruesome sight, but no big deal for a veteran like me.
-The ancient bloodsucking fleas were frozen solid. Hmm….
Pellelian squinted.
-What is this? Some device projecting magical illusions.
‘Don’t remember?’
-No memory of installing that.
Pellelian’s memories had plenty of holes. This seemed like one of them.
‘Dwarves are dead everywhere.’
Dwarf corpses littered the place, mummified like jerky, bellies swollen like overripe grapes from the fleas.
-They should’ve died more painfully… Unbelievable, those short-arsed bastards.
I’d heard Pellelian was closer to dwarves and gnomes than his own kind. And yet those dwarves had tried to sell off his dungeon twice already.
-Go that way.
His tone suggested the flea that massacred the dwarves was nowhere to be seen.
‘Ugh, the smell…’
But I wasn’t afraid of the fleas either. I strode right into the thick of them.
First, the dignity I’d earned leading hundreds of monsters as their boss. I unleashed it without restraint.
The more sensitive fleas slunk away slowly.
“Saaak!”
Of course, even after my roar, some bold ones charged in.
They latched onto me to suck my blood.
‘Not even itchy.’
But none could damage my crystal scales.
Kwajijik—
More of them cracked and crumbled under my weight.
The demonic essence they offered was negligible, so I quickly reached the door per Pellelian’s orders.
-See that hole up there?
‘Yeah.’
-Go in there.
‘Not the open door?’
-That’s the vent. Might be better. Gotta catch up to the ones who went first.
Fair enough. I stabbed my dagger in, twisted, and ripped out the wire mesh blocking the vent.
Then I leaped up. Hanging precariously, Isil extended a vine to help me into the vent.
-Crawl straight ahead.
When building the dungeon, he probably didn’t worry about intruders using the vents. Unlike those Mission Impossible movies, this vent was tight. Barely wide enough for a snake like me.
Pellelian scouted ahead.
-This way.
He seemed to know the dungeon’s layout roughly.
‘Your memory’s spotty, right?’
-Yeah, parts of the interior are blank in my mind.
‘So?’
-We’re heading to one of those blanks. That’s where the reason my main body incinerated memories is hidden.
Smart cookie. But I was a bit surprised—not by his cleverness, but by his word choice.
He’d called himself “main body” for the first time. It had an odd ring, like he was a separate entity from his “self.”
I slithered through the twisting vent per his directions. No traps inside, thankfully. But it was so cramped and maze-like it got boring.
So I asked Pellelian,
‘What’s hidden in this dungeon?’
He didn’t answer right away. Not reluctance—more like organizing his thoughts.
-Something about posthumous arrangements.
Pellelian’s epithet was Reverse Heaven. Defying the heavens—but really, the whole world. He’d bucked his race, nations, laws, morals. Labeled a villain.
But he seemed to feel a bit wronged.
-Call me dogshit, calfshit, empire’s enemy—whatever. I don’t care. I had a noble purpose….
Anyway, he wasn’t a conqueror or sadistic killer type. More like a mad scientist. One so deranged he’d burn the world for his “noble” goal.
-To make fairies great again. Evolving that fallen race into high elves—that was my goal.
When he spoke of it, his tone turned theatrical, dramatic. Proof of his sincerity.
But after spending so much time with him, it felt… artificial. Like a looped recording, repeating to steel his weary heart.
-Even after death, I hoped it would come true. So I left something to make it happen.
Logical reasoning. What he’d done was massive-scale “research.”
People don’t evolve. Humans, elves, dwarves—none do. Pellelian aimed to defy that, evolving elves.
His scattered dungeons across the continent were research outposts, strictly speaking.
‘A lab?’
-A lab….
‘You said the research to evolve all elves into high elves was incomplete.’
-As far as I recall. I had leads, but that’s it. Never finished.
Dead men don’t research.
A witty idea flashed in my mind.
‘You made golems.’
-Golems?
‘Yeah, not fighters—researcher golems. So even after you died, they’d keep evolving elves. Nonstop experiments down there.’
-Hah, that’s… quite….
I’d flexed my imagination. Sounded plausible even to me.
Pellelian froze, stunned.
-What an idiotic idea!
‘…’
-Think research is easy? A genius like me slaved a lifetime and failed. Researcher golems? Pfft.
Grumpy old man. I wanted to care, but he always said it so annoyingly.
‘Then what? I’m not that interested anyway.’
-I get the idea. But I’m the avatar of rationality. If I couldn’t deliver 100, I’d at least leave the finished 10.
That was his guess.
-I did leave research results. Probably sent them to the elf elder council and World Tree after death.
‘You’re on bad terms with the elves. They’d trash it.’
-They’d read it. Regardless of hating me or my faults, they’d use it. Or the whole elf race perishes.
He believed that.
‘But that’s thinking like someone who hasn’t died yet.’
It slipped out.
-What’s that mean?
‘Don’t think about what you want after death. Consider what you’ll regret when it’s time to die.’
-….
Evolving all elves? Sure, important. He’d devoted his long life to it, punishing any obstacles—earning his villain title.
But having died once, I knew. Deathbed regrets hit different.
Things you should’ve done but didn’t. Words too harsh in hindsight. Confessions you couldn’t voice.
Shouldn’t have lived that way. Should’ve lived differently.
That flood of regret.
‘Nothing so regrettable you couldn’t die with it?’
No idea if he caught my thoughts.
-There is.
‘What?’
-…That day.
Pellelian spoke softly, then glared at me. Swung a fist.
-Hey!
Swish—
The fist passed through my face, naturally.
-Nosy brat!
I’d made him swear to answer if I pressed. But that’d be too cruel.
‘Maybe he liked someone, couldn’t confess, left a video letter before dying.’
-If so, I’d burn this place myself.
Plausible.
‘Or maybe he was trying to become a lich?’
-What?
‘You know, mages who hate dying turn into skullheads for eternal life.’
-Undead sorcerer? Me?
‘To finish your research…’
I shut up. His face was hardening.
-You gnome!
‘Ow.’
-Insulting me? A pureblood fairy becoming undead!
He acted utterly offended. Made sense—he was obsessed with his fairy heritage. Probably the proudest elf alive.
‘Yeah, yeah, my bad.’
-Keh.
He grumbled on. Whatever was hidden, we’d see soon enough.
Zanil Peze was a grizzled ranger. He’d handled over ten commissions with the imperial purple seal. Zero failures.
Purple seal meant imperial. Spoke to his experience.
Plenty qualified for dungeon delving.
And Dr. Lobanton? Expert on this mountain demon realm and its civilization. Master of Oboe civilization, ancient history, symbols, myths.
Knowledge perfect for delving.
But even so, luck had favored them. Two men reaching here unscathed.
“Hoo…”
White breath escaped Zanil’s mouth. Air was winter-cold. Magic-maintained space.
“…A laboratory.”
Lobanton muttered.
“What?”
“Laboratory. Reverse Heaven’s lab.”
Zanil had seen mage workshops, labs. But this fit the bill.
“Grotesque. Utterly grotesque.”
He’d hoped for treasure mountains, magic tools. Even without, Pellelian’s dungeon was worth it—empire’s enemy’s hideout. Royals would rejoice.
But the contents? Gut-wrenchingly repulsive. Pure instinct.
Clack.
Lobanton fiddled with a crystal panel fearlessly.
“Careful. What if it wakes.”
“Reverse Heaven obsessed with chimeras? True, then.”
Beyond the panel: “culturing fluid” filled tanks. Dim light revealed flesh lumps.
Three eyes, tentacles or arms sprouting wildly. Not even chimera—pure meat.
They walked slowly.
“Getting more advanced.”
Lobanton murmured. Scholar’s eye spotted it: sequential specimens. Early chimeras to late.
Fifth tank had some balance. Fur to head and back, reverse-jointed forelegs—still weird.
Tap tap.
Lobanton knocked; Zanil freaked.
“What’re you doing!”
“Relax. It wake up or something?”
“They’re dead, right?”
“Who knows…”
Lobanton felt unease. Improving chimeras trending toward bipedalism.
Bipedal chimera? Why bother? Four-plus legs made sense for chimeras. Common knowledge.
“Hold on.”
Lobanton spotted wall scrawl. Common: forgotten notebook, hasty notes.
“Can you read it?”
“Hoo, dusting it off.”
Scholar Lobanton knew elf tongue. Read Pellelian’s script.
His pupils quivered. Gasped. Face drained white. Zanil panicked.
“What’s wrong…”
Clang!
Metal panel crashed from ceiling. Zanil drew dagger instinctively.
Looked up: vent cover fallen open.
A white snake dropped out.
“What the… is that.”
Looked dumb. Dust-covered, even dumber.
“Gaaah!”
But Lobanton screamed at the snake.
Not scary at all. Crossbow drawn, he realized it was just a snake and snarled.
“Damn it! Looks just like that dog bastard Chugota’s spawn.”
Fired crossbow at it without hesitation.
Understandable, but—
Ping—
Bolt didn’t pierce. Snake caught it in its mouth.
Possible?
Zanil froze in disbelief.
Snake squinted.
Black dagger appeared from nowhere. Sliced Lobanton’s crossbow hand.
Slash!
Blood drops, severed fingers flew.
“Hraaaagh!”
The doctor’s scream followed moments later.