Secret Infiltration Success
There are two main types of beer: Lager and Ale. To get more specific, lagers use bottom-fermenting yeast that sinks to the bottom of the fermentation tank, while ales use top-fermenting yeast that floats to the top, and so on with their characteristics.
But there's an even simpler way to tell them apart. If the beer is clear, malty, and refreshingly crisp, it's a lager. If it's rich in aroma, hazy, and has a heavy mouthfeel, it's an ale.
The oak barrel Royle had brought—and the one I'd snuck into—contained ale. True to its nature, the aroma was out of this world.
'Whoa...'
A floral scent, like flowers, filled my nostrils.
'Feels like I might get a little buzzed just from this...'
I'd always had a weak tolerance for alcohol even before. Apparently, turning into a snake hadn't changed that. Good thing the beer's alcohol content was low; if it had been wine, I'd be blackout drunk from the smell alone.
—Stay put and behave.
Pellelian was being unusually proactive. I'd been thoroughly cleaned beforehand, but I still offered my condolences to the barrel of ale I could no longer drink. There was no choice if I wanted to infiltrate the mine.
The outside grew noisy—dwarves must have come out. Perfect. I'd just hold out until we got inside. As long as I didn't drink, I'd be fine. There was breathing room inside the oak barrel, and I'd even drilled a small vent hole.
That was when it happened.
The oak barrel I was in suddenly tilted sharply.
Korrorok...
My head plunged into the beer. I scrambled to right myself, but not before gulping down a huge mouthful.
"Hic."
I'd just learned that snakes could hiccup too.
'Whoa... oh... this is good.'
My belly was bloated from all the beer I'd inhaled. A pleasant buzz spread through me, warm and fuzzy. I was drunk. I was getting drunk!
'Mmm, hits pretty hard...'
—Hey, how much did you even drink to get wasted already!
I hadn't drunk alcohol since becoming a snake. But from my past life, I knew exactly what happened when I did.
"Damn it, this is exhausting."
"Just roll 'em to the cart."
A dwarf rolled the oak barrel with a rumble. And I tumbled right along with it.
The world spun in circles. I shouldn't be getting drunk.
'When I get drunk...'
I turn into a total lightweight...!
To us humans, dwarves are known as 'stubborn craftsmen' or 'meticulous blacksmiths.' But viewing them merely as a blacksmith race is far too simplistic.
First, dwarves are divided into surface dwarves and underground dwarves. Surface dwarves are more masters of architecture than smithing, and grand structures like the Sun Palace are mostly their handiwork. Thanks to their cheerful dispositions, they even get along well with the haughty forest elves.
Underground dwarves, however, are different. How many have ventured into their cities, ever delving deeper into the earth? Those who've only met surface dwarves are shocked by their underground kin. The short stature and sturdy muscles are the same, but their skin is ghostly pale. Deep-set eyes and massively bushy beards make them look downright terrifying. Like termites gnawing to a mountain's roots, they spend lifetimes pioneering mines and turning the underground into labyrinthine dungeons.
These underground dwarves are the true master smiths. They rarely surface, but their weapons and armor shake the continent's fame.
Yet make no mistake: dwarves weren't designed to live underground. In that harsh environment, obsessing over beard length, their lifespans are markedly shorter than surface kin. Most don't even reach 200 years, dying from severe lung diseases, mine collapses, or mauled by underground monsters.
But one affliction captivates researchers above all: moth-madness, or moth-mania—a mental illness. No dwarf, no matter how iron-willed, survives its onset. Moth-maddened dwarves inevitably meet their end like moths to a flame...
Contrary to human misconceptions, underground dwarves don't always live gloomily. Especially with good beer, they become happier than anyone.
"Cheers!"
Wooden beer mugs clashed in the air, foam spraying everywhere. The dwarves of Red Anvil Mine chugged pint after pint of ale. Not one of the five around the table set their mug down first—they downed them in one go like it was planned.
"Kahaa!"
"Kueeeek!"
They belched dragon-breath roars. Laughter exploded.
Red Anvil Mine wasn't just a mine anymore. Over time, it had grown massive—a city in its own right. The top level housed dwarven homes and amenities. Miners who spent days excavating lower levels returned topside to unwind with beer, smearing coal dust across their faces straight into their gullets.
Thanks to their legendary tolerance, the daily beer consumption here was staggering.
"Thought I was gonna starve to death."
"Roast a whole pig?"
"Add some ham too!"
How did they sustain themselves so deep? With minimal trade to humans, it was miraculous. Red Anvil dwarves were largely self-sufficient. Thick ham slices hit plates, alongside fermented cabbage and mashed potatoes.
A dwarf stabbed a hunk with his fork—no slicing—and shoved it in. That 'pig' ham? Made from steel hogs, monsters that ate iron ore, bred right in the mine. Potatoes and cabbage were unique underground strains—dwarven staples.
Pig, potatoes, white cabbage. Nothing green in sight. But dwarves didn't care. Beer made even lousy food delicious. They slammed three rounds in a flash. bellies full, yet today they were extra hyped.
"Clink glasses—ho!"
Cheers nonstop.
"Swing hammers—ho! Dig earth, mine ore—ho!"
Drunken red faces bellowed songs.
"Till the deep mine's heart, red fire claims us—ho!"
The tavern-keeping dwarf elder clicked his tongue at the young miners.
"Innkeep! More beer!"
"Just bring the whole oak barrel!"
That seemed easier. He didn't bother with useless 'drink moderately' warnings they wouldn't heed. He dragged over a fresh oak barrel. Up close, the booze stench intensified. Their eyes were already glazed.
"Don't puke..."
"We wooon't~ No we wooon't."
"Tsk tsk."
The innkeep just left the barrel. Normally he'd pop the lid to pour, but dwarves went barbaric—hammer out.
Thung!
A hole punched clean through the top, minimal splinters. Discarding the lid, he licked his lips and raised his mug to ladle ale.
Whoosh!
Something shot from the barrel. A beer-soaked snake with crystalline scales slithered onto the food-laden table.
Even the hammered dwarves froze. No one grasped it immediately. The snake, drunk from the barrel, spun its head on the table.
One dwarf yelled.
"S-Snake booze!"
That shattered the tension.
"Snake boooze!?"
"Never tried it."
"You mad bastards, hahaha!"
Hammered dwarves mobbed the barrel, dubbing the snake-infused ale 'snake booze' and scooping wildly. To booze-hounds, 'mad bastards' was high praise. They all went mad, chugging the recent snake home.
"You too!"
Someone tossed the snake ham. It ate willingly; dwarven hype peaked.
"Beer too?!"
"Saaak!"
The snake dunked its snout in a mug.
"Hahaha!"
"Drinks like a pro!"
Song resumed, snake-style.
"Snake booze down—ho! Mad deeds abound—ho!"
"Saaak!"
"Abandoned in the mine's end, dying—ho!"
"Saaak!"
The snake hooted 'ho!' in sync. Dream or reality? Hallucinating from booze? Dwarves laughed, guzzling on. Party heat rose; even boozehounds blacked out.
"N-no feeling in my fingertips."
"M-my lips keep twitching."
Unfamiliar symptoms hit: numb limbs, convulsing lips. Like mild neurotoxin poisoning.
"Haha! Snake booze effect!"
"Hahaha!"
Just party fun. Blackouts looped: out, back in.
"One beat rest! Two beats! Three— one two three!"
Suddenly chanting that. Dwarves circled the table, clapping for the snake. Food and plates crashed; table hosted snake dance.
"Dancin' good!"
Dance or thrash? Dwarves linked arms, joining in. Tavern empty save them; innkeep rested after barrel toss.
Chaos peaked; innkeep burst out with broom to evict.
Finally, normal reaction.
"S-Snaaake!"
Snake dancing on his table—clearly a monster.
"Begone, shoo!"
"Whatcha doin' to our friend?!"
"Mad bastard!"
He shoved clinging dwarves; one youth rolled. Snake wobbled but stayed. Broom swing.
Thwack!
Broom should've flung it—instead, bounced back. Snake tail-whipped it away.
Innkeep panicked, swung again.
Thwang! Ting! Thud!
Three swings, three tail-blocks.
"Shhhshhh."
Snake giggling? Paranoia?
"Hahaha!"
"Cool, so cool."
Drunks shook empties in awe. Snake proudly stretched.
"Out, you lot!"
Innkeep roared. Ex-warrior dwarf, no weakling against drunks. He fetched a knife to slay.
Ching—
Door opened then. Drunks and knife-hunting innkeep missed it.
"Out, you bastards!"
Knife out, he charged blindly furious. Terrifying swings.
"Eek!"
Newcomer startled. Knife didn't stop.
'G-Guard stance!'
I chomped the flying blade. Bit hard—crunch!—but it didn't shatter.
Ouch! Teeth hurt!
Ughhh!
I spat the knife, retching. Barely held back vomit.
"Waaah."
"Kek. Pfft!"
My new dwarf booze-buddies laughed. Nearly hurled on table. Reminded of first adult drinking binge.
'It's amazing, beer doesn't faze me at all!' Guzzled somac like water...
—You always surprise me.
Memory cut. Head spun wildly.
—Thought you'd fight dwarves... not party.
Yeah, friends all around. Table messy—time for Beginner Elemental Magic: Water...
No water came.
"Uwaa!"
Other dwarves fine, but elder hated me. Another knife swing.
Sorry, leaving soon. After cleanup.
"What are you doing!"
Hooded dwarf tackled innkeep, wrenching knife.
"Too harsh on a speechless beast!"
"Y-You..."
Innkeep flustered, then indignant.
"These madmen brought a snake to my tavern!"
"Not us... popped from barrel. Our lil' buddy."
"Barrel? Nonsense!"
Hood stopped bickering.
"I'll take it."
Approached me. Who're you? I'm no speechless beast. Booze-buddies blocked.
Power of friendship!
"What the—!"
Buddy flinched at hood's face. Spat on floor.
"Bah, ruins the vibe."
Left hood alone. Traitors! That's all our bond was?
Hood grabbed me. Dodged woozily, collapsed.
"Outsider, huh. Poor thing."
"Saaak."
Not poor, infiltrated on purpose.
He cradled me, exited tavern. Unchallenged.
"My place first."
Stroked gently. This kidnapper...
Alley, no dwarves. Hood off.
Blurred vision: dwarf face.
"S-Saaak!"
Startled. Dwarves all bearded—even females. But this one: soft-featured, barely eyebrows, smooth as baby.
—Baldness dwarf...?
Pellelian muttered absurdly. Dwarf wryly smiled.
"You're bald like me."
What?! He pitied my sleekness as kinship.
"We're kindred souls."
Unfair! I'm sleek, not bald.