I Became a Hungover Snake
There are plenty of jokes mocking baldness in the world. Even in my past life, there were memes like "Grow, hair, grow" or "baldness beam."
Personally, I don't care much for those memes. Not because my dad was bald or anything. Of course, now that I've been reborn as a snake, I don't have to worry about losing my hair. Not with these lush horns—no, a crown—sprouting from my head.
"Heh heh, I just couldn't leave you alone."
But this dwarf felt a strange kinship with me. This bald guy!
Rustle rustle—
I bristled my scales all over my body.
"You're not completely bald... yourself."
The dwarf panicked.
"Did that upset you? Sorry..."
No, but why apologize like that? Now I feel bad.
"My name's Dungkel. You seem like you came from outside, so let's head to my place first."
His round face suits the name Dungkel. Seems like a soft, gentle dwarf. Whatever. I smoothed down my scales and relaxed my body. My head was spinning from all that booze. I need a nap.
* * *
Groooan.
There had to be a tiny snake wriggling inside my skull. The "brain-eating snake." Otherwise, my head couldn't hurt this bad.
That snake's name was definitely the "Hangover Serpent."
I writhed in agony. This was a bed. Dungkel, that dwarf, must have laid me down here.
"You're awake."
Dungkel sat in a chair, wearing adorable pajamas.
"First monster I've seen that drinks booze. Here, drink this. It's honey water."
Dungkel kindly poured some into a cast-iron cup. I wrapped my tail around the handle and sipped carefully. He watched in awe.
"You're so smart. Doesn't feel like a monster at all."
What, this? Thanks, I'll enjoy the honey water.
Dungkel was short and stocky like a proper dwarf. Not just fat—solid muscle under that layer. Normally, a dwarf's face would be buried in a lush beard, arms furry as hell. But Dungkel was smooth-faced and bare-armed.
Born that way, I guess.
'Really?'
Yeah. Or some disease. Alopecia—lack of hair all over, including eyebrows. He's got brows, but barely any elsewhere.
'Ugh, this honey water's reviving me.'
The sweet honey spread through my sour stomach. Odd scent—not just honey, but herbal too.
"Added some gale herb juice. Good for hangovers."
Dungkel explained. Pellelian chimed in.
Dwarves love booze as much as they have pro hangover cures. Makes sense—they're all lushes.
But Dungkel said something unexpected.
"I can't hold my liquor, so it's been ages since I made this."
Doesn't drink much, huh. I figured that was fine, but Pellelian seemed baffled.
No beard, can't drink... I can guess what kind of life that dwarf's had.
'What kind?'
Treated like a reject. Harsh, but obvious.
Heartless take. He seems like a nice guy—does that warrant such pity?
What's a beard to them anyway?
Dwarf women grow beards too. Beards mean honor and strength. Lusher and better quality, the more respect. That's their race.
No way. Beard fetishists or what? Come to think of it, the dwarf king we're after is called Bluebeard. That important?
A guy with no beard, no fur—how much respect you think he gets? Think about it. In your snake den, a sibling born scaleless. Would it survive?
Yeah, it'd feel creepy. Kinda gross. But hey, I was born a lowly Little White Snake alone...
Can't drink either. Dwarves with cranky, arrogant personalities only socialize over booze. Fail that, you're outcast. Pitiful birth...
Pellelian's assessment was brutal. I glared, expecting elf supremacist disdain. Nope. He had a distant, wistful look.
A curse from birth... whose sin is that?
Maybe he saw himself in Dungkel. Beardless dwarf. Fairy born looking like a decrepit old man.
I teased him.
'Ooh, empathy. Shared suffering.'
Yeah.
I expected a tantrum, but Pellelian just grinned.
Snake, you get it—born inferior white and all.
'...'
Wait, did my brother try to kill me at birth because I was white?
I shot back at Pellelian.
'White's not inferior.'
He smirked annoyingly.
Dungkel approached, oblivious to our chat, beckoning.
"Come here. I'll show you something."
The dwarf home was carved into underground earth and rock. Cozy but cramped—what's to see? As I thought that, Dungkel grabbed a lantern and left the room. I followed.
"My secret spot... You can crash here if you want."
Dwarf's secret space. Workshop? I trailed him.
His house was on the mine's outskirts—no other dwarves around. Narrow stairs appeared. Hangover made climbing tough, so I hopped on his shoulder. He startled, then looked touched.
The stairs grew brighter—no lantern needed.
"Here."
Makes sense. Sunlight poured into this underground space.
"My secret garden."
An underground garden. Real deal. The cavern teemed with plants and trees. Lush green without sun? But sunlight streamed from above.
"Vertical cave shaft."
A hole pierced the ceiling, linking outside. Water dripped.
"Grow edible fruits here... Honey's from these bees too."
Bees buzzed. Amazing. Sunlit or not, maintaining this ain't easy. Dungkel's more elf than dwarf.
He plucked a mountain berry, popped it in his mouth, tossed one to me. Sour juice burst—head cleared instantly. Gotta compliment.
I pulled paper and pen from subspace.
Beautiful garden, dwarf.
"You can stay. I'll scout an exit... Whoa."
Dungkel froze. Paper floated, pen wrote itself.
He eyed the paper and me.
"You wrote that?"
Affirmative.
His face flushed beet red.
"Damn, embarrassing."
Remembered trash-talking my baldness, figuring I couldn't understand. Probably felt like mumbling to himself. Looked friendless.
No shame, dwarf. Grateful for your kindness.
"...But."
He squinted those innocent eyes.
"Why talk so cringey?"
'...'
My turn to fluster. Pellelian cackled.
Amaen swooned over this style... Naaru ate it up too.
Thanks anyway.
Casual now. Better.
"No biggie. But you're some high-tier monster, huh? Writing, magic."
Something like that.
Unlike panicky humans, Dungkel treated me kindly.
'Know a dwarf called Bluebeard?'
"...Of course. Owner of our anvil."
'Here for him.'
"Why?"
Old contract. Need to talk.
Good, Bluebeard ain't dead. But Dungkel wasn't thrilled.
"He's deep in, but meeting's tough."
Not just "mystery monster" policy. Something else.
'Why?'
"Well..."
Then—flutter flutter from above.
"Crap! Snake, hide!"
Hide what? Dungkel grabbed a shovel.
"These bastards again!"
Fluttering from the shaft. Bats poured down.
Flutter flutter!
Old grudges! Dungkel swung wildly, but too slow for bats. Shovel sliced air.
Bats in caves? Overreacting. But reason soon clear.
Flutter!
Mouse-sized claw bats, then cat-sized ones swarmed.
Bats ravaged bushes, clawed soil.
"No! My plants!"
One yanked a ginseng-like root. Mystically blue-glowing.
That's mana grass! This dwarf grew it underground!
Valuable. Time to pay for honey water.
Predator Leap lv3
Bat fast? Not faster than me. Chest-holed bat plummeted.
It dropped mana grass—others charged.
"Wha—!"
Dungkel panicked, tried helping, stopped. No threat to me.
Friends dropping fast—bats fled in fear. Dungkel swung at empties.
Weak dwarf.
Ray lv2
My ray pierced fleeing bats. Not destruction beam, but enough. They dropped like flies.
Bats cleared.
"Whoa, wow!"
Dungkel clapped in awe.
"Thanks! Bats swarmed since mana grass sprouted. Headache."
He offered handshake, realized no hand, hesitated. I shook his with my tail.
Fairy no, dwarf grew mana grass! Even flowered it!
'That hard?'
Very. Even among fairies, gardener level for blue pretty. Check it.
Up close, mana pulsed.
'Oh, the stuff for mana potions from Great Forest!'
Growing this in mountains? Nature-loving dwarf before me. Dungeon-building golem-hobby elf beside...
'Ah!'
Lightning idea.
"Truly grateful. How to repay?"
Perfect timing.
'Check this?'
"Huh?"
Pulled stew pot with chimera snake seed. No sprout.
'Seed from deep Great Forest...'
Spilled it all. World tree root birthed chimera, held seed not stone. Planted recent, no sprout.
"W-World tree...? From Great Forest?"
Dungkel's face lit with ecstasy.
'Yep.'
"Dream before dying: see Great Forest, World Tree!"
Un-dwarfish.
'Got it, check quick.'
Remembered whiny lil snake—downer.
Dungkel gently dug. Found seed.
"Whew, close call. Nearly rotted."
Seed dark, wet. No sprout sign.
'What? Dying?'
"Won't die."
Timid Dungkel now stern pro.
Brought scalpel-like knife.
"Harvested immature. Husk split-resistant."
Carefully sliced brown husk. Blue embryo revealed.
"I'll make it sprout."
Yes. True nature friend: dwarf, not elf—from today.