Prologue: The Solitary Toplaner's Truck Ride
Do you know the feeling of running challenger every season? And on that lonely, desolate top lane, no less!
Personally, anyone who gets stomped because they're trash and then types '15gg'—I'm pretty damn sure their parents kicked the bucket when they were fifteen. Anything else, and there's no way a 2/0/0 AD carry Pain gets ganked at level 2 and destroyed in laning phase in just two minutes.
It had to happen that way. No choice.
"Ah. Fuck."
After five straight losses in a row, the crushing reality hit like a quiet wave, drawing a deep sigh from his lips. His head throbbed with pain, so he closed his eyes and pushed back from the computer. Time to cool off.
Scraaaape.
He stepped out onto the balcony, sank into a chair, and lit a cigarette. Exhale. As he blew out a deep plume of smoke, he naturally picked up his phone. He opened the webnovel app and scrolled mindlessly.
"Huh?"
Suddenly, a banner caught his eye, and he tapped it. It was a romance fantasy novel as the main banner—read 50 chapters, get 50 loaves of bread. And the first 50 were free. The platform was pushing it hard with this insane event, and for some reason, it drew him in. He was low on bread anyway, so he started reading.
Five hours passed just like that, right there in his chair.
"Ha."
As if a hardcore top laner macho dude would vibe with romance fantasy. The tropes were your standard clichés, and it had this goddamn reverse harem bullshit to boot. He figured he'd just grind the mission and bail.
"This crazy bastard. The author's a fucking lunatic."
This was it. Like going for kimchi jjigae and getting served kimchi stew made with perilla leaf kimchi instead. Then swapping pork belly for blowfish and green onions for basil. This wasn't cooking—it was deranged mad-scientist cuisine. The chef's mental state was suspect as hell. Serving this shit meant they were picking a fight with the customers, right?
So he was like, fine, let's throw down, and stood up to leave. But then—what the hell—a mouthwatering aroma hit him. So he grabbed a spoon for just a taste.
"It's fucking delicious. For real."
The prose was god-tier. Even with material he hated and a protagonist that grated on him, he couldn't stop reading. He polished off 200 chapters right there on the balcony.
"With prose like this, goddamn. Why the fuck are you writing this kind of novel? Ugh. Thick-headed prick."
Check the author's name: IsekaiHistorian. Jesus. His gaming-sharpened nerves spat out the sharp words.
And now? Regret.
"Still pisses me off thinking about it."
Who could've guessed the author would sue a dimensional god for defamation? Or that the dimensional god would hit the defamer with an isekai truck straight into another world?
As a mad villain plotting national overthrow alongside the antagonist lady, only to get executed by the capture target crown prince.
"Damn it."
"Boss. Big trouble."
"What now, man."
At his subordinate's words, Valerius—isekai'd into the romance fantasy world—could only sigh.
He didn't give a shit about the heroine; he just clawed his way to survival. As long as he stayed clear of the central plot, he'd be fine, he thought.
Isekai'd into a 4-year-old orphan, 10 years in the orphanage. 2 years wandering. But he had to repay the kindness of those who raised him, so he joined the military—easy money—and served 11 years. Got deployed to the worst hellhole, the South Frontline, and reclaimed nearly all the lost borders.
Somehow, he ended up a war hero.
"Bro. They're pulling you from the South Frontline."
"Now? Just one bastard left."
"That's why. They wanna finish it and steal the glory."
"Ha. Hahaha!"
What to do with these barbaric medieval fuckers? Some become North Duke, some are noble-born capture targets living it up. Why am I the villain asshole suffering like this and still getting screwed?
Valerius was a soldier in the original story too, but this treatment? Made national overthrow tempting.
"Doesn't make sense. A lowly commoner like me bleeds out building the nation, and they keep bitching."
"...Ahem."
"No, we got clear weaknesses. What's there to fear?"
His adjutant's face darkened at Valerius's words. Not a single one was wrong.
The Black Lion Guerrilla under Valerius was no different from leashed hounds.
"Haa."
Valerius sighed, sorting his thoughts. About a year till the main story kicked off. Even with the capture targets around, he'd stabilized the South Frontline. Retreating now was fine.
He never planned to set foot in the capital anyway.
The issue? The North.
What to do with Mother's hometown.
It was home for him and his ragged crew, where the nun they called Mother lived.
Honestly, as long as the North was safe, the South could burn for all he cared.
Planned to stabilize South and transfer North right away.
But the nobles couldn't wait and started shit, killing that plan.
"Hm."
He recalled the original ending. Crown prince obsessed with heroine, North Duke somehow stabilizes things, heroine romance, happy end.
"That's a happy ending?"
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, man."
Lost 40% of the border, and that's happy? You crazy author fuck. South and North get wrecked because of it. Leave it be, and the nun who raised him like a mother gets caught in the North's destruction.
That's why original Valerius flipped out.
North Duke heir's holed up in capital chasing skirts—how's that gonna work?
Bam! Valerius slammed the table and stood.
Fine. Since it's come to this.
Screw it all. Head North.
Staying South means noble checks and no room to breathe. Stick around, watch that shit, and he might turn into original Valerius.
Military life's best, but even without, he could normalize the North. Pension goes to orphanage, South's pushed back—not like original. North's the last piece. Fix that, all good.
No point lingering in military—nothing good awaits.
"Kids, pack up."
"...Pardon? Boss?"
"Homeward. Toplaners' homeland."
Can't defy imperial order anyway. Time to discharge. Let 'em suffer South without Black Lion Guerrilla.
"Raven."
"Yes, Boss."
"Call Ma Tower Gramps."
"Sudden?"
"Yeah. Discharging."
"...Pardon?"
"Does this make any sense?!"
Having safely withdrawn from the South, Valerius and the Black Lion Guerrilla were dragged straight to the Ma Tower.
"A war hero like you discharging? Absolutely not! Morale drop—we can't allow it!"
"No, Gramps. Goddamn. Country's telling me to fuck off."
Ma Tower elder Grant was speechless at Valerius's bluntness.
He'd opposed the motion to replace the commoner general since no more merits could be handed out. But it led to this mess.
"S-Sorry about that. But for the national interest, stay a bit longer!"
"You can handle it without me, right? Bettern' us lowly commoner trash."
"Hah!"
Grant's vision blurred. Those pureblood assholes were about to lose the nation's huge boon.
Rough and rude from commoner roots, but upright, no greed—massive public support. Superhuman prowess, led army to reclaim crumbling South Frontline. Clear weaknesses to keep in check. Surprisingly down-to-earth; proper rewards, and no better talent.
"Gramps, hang in there. South Frontline's doable now. We pushed it all back."
"...Sigh. True. But really discharging? Could rack more merits."
"Nah. Doubt it anyway. Guerrilla grows, just more risk."
Grant nodded. No point arguing. He knew Valerius's stubbornness well.
That stubbornness saved his life and his son's, so no complaints.
"So, where to after?"
"North."
"To Mother Seria."
"That's later. Planning North merc work."
"Merc?"
Grant tilted his head at the unfolding story. A man who'd walked blood-soaked paths. Always frontline, drenched in gore, ranting battle-mad nonsense. But hometown tales brought a pure smile. Said he'd help Mother develop the school. Mercs now?
"Barbarians infesting North lately. Gonna clean 'em."
"...Military handles that."
"Planned North after South. Papers ready."
"Hah! Haha!"
Grant clutched his nape as his vision swam. Leave him be, he'd find noble deeds—but petty jealousy turned him like this!
Seeing the reaction, Valerius smirked. Even in barbaric medieval, folks like Grant existed.
"Anyway, Gramps, handle the kids' discharges. If they die under other nobles, I'll lose it."
"Sigh. Fine. Promised, so I'll make it happen."
"Should be easy."
Black Lion Guerrilla: orphans like Valerius, South nomads. Nobles despise their origins—no opposition to discharge.
"Ahem. North mercs, right."
"Yeah?"
"Mage'd be perfect."
Valerius scowled at Grant's words.
"Gramps. Cut the shit. Please. I'll bolt for real."
"...No! What'd my granddaughter do? You haven't even met!"
"No way!"
Sorry, but Gramps's granddaughter was off-limits. One of the original's villain ladies. And a top laner didn't need some magic twink. Pass.