Chapter 1: Reborn as Garen

Earth.

Oh? So you’re going to instant-lock Yasuo and fight over positions? And you’re going to flame people too? You think I can’t deal with you?

The young man let out a cold chuckle, moving his mouse cursor to the icon of Tahm Kench, the River King.

Then, he slammed down the confirm button.

“Not again!”

“Is a guy not allowed to enjoy a proper game anymore?!”

Seeing his friend once more picking his notorious troll pick, Garen, who was queuing up with him, felt his mood crash into the abyss.

Yes, Garen’s real name was actually Garen, though the “Gar” came from the swordmaster Gai Nie of the pre-Qin era.

Garen knew all too well: whenever his friend piloted Tahm Kench, every one of the River King’s abilities seemed to be leveled up for avenging his teammates.

That flame-spewing Yasuo main was in for a miserable game—but so was Garen, a player who genuinely wanted to enjoy himself. Soon, he’d be forced to join these two saboteurs in a symphony of “an ally has been slain” and “your tower has been destroyed,” left to helplessly lament his fate.

Forget it… this one’s already lost. I’ll just mess around.

Disheartened, Garen stared at the champion select screen, idly drifting his mouse over the many hero portraits…

At last, the cursor stopped on a familiar face—his true main.

This champion’s name was legendary, known far and wide.

It was none other than the mighty sword of Demacia—the Might of Demacia—Garen!

The poet-sage Du Shaoling once witnessed this hero brandish his sword, moved by its vigorous power, and wrote a poetic ode:

“With each patch, a new god is born, and with each patch, Garen is played anew.”

“One, a silence; two, a spin—beneath the greatsword, souls remain within.”

Garen suddenly recalled these lines of praise and, almost involuntarily, clicked his mouse.

Confirm.

…

The World of One Piece, East Blue. Samwell Island.

Endless verdant forests stretched as far as the eye could see. Dense canopies formed towering umbrellas that blocked out the sky, and layer upon layer of intertwining branches merged into an endless emerald sea.

Beneath these trees, in the heart of the forest, a crystal-clear stream wound its way through the undergrowth.

All around was quiet, broken only by the gentle murmur of running water.

Yet, the labored breathing of a man shattered this stillness.

He was tall and burly, limbs proportionate, muscles knotted and strong. Nearly two meters in height, he radiated power from every pore; standing upright, he was like an unbreakable iron tower.

Though his features were not delicate, they were undeniably handsome. Short black hair lent him a fresh look, and between his sword-like brows was the steely resolve of a true man.

Such an appearance would make one think of a philosopher from Shin-Nippori.

Ahem… no, that’s not right.

He was the very image of a perfect warrior.

Yet, at this moment, this perfect warrior looked utterly wretched: eyes unfocused and lost, lips cracked and pale, his powerful muscles streaked with dust and dirt. He held a thick branch as a makeshift weapon.

Worst of all, he was utterly naked—only a few roughly braided leaves provided the barest modesty.

In truth, this man—our protagonist, Garen—had been stranded in the wilderness for a full day and night.

With zero survival skills, he couldn’t find his bearings or a way out. He’d found no source of water, no edible plants, not even a single wild animal.

Tormented by hunger and thirst, Garen could only stumble aimlessly through the jungle like a headless fly.

“Water… water?”

He caught the sound of running water. At last, a flicker of life returned to his dull gaze.

He quickened his pace, heedless of the pain in his bare feet, and rushed toward the direction of the sound.

Finally, he reached a pool of clear stream water.

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees by the bank, sprawled out, and drank greedily, like a beast, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of sweet water into his parched throat.

The sound of his drinking went on for a long while before, at last, he raised his head, satisfied, and wiped his mouth with relish.

The stream grew calm again, its surface like a flawless mirror.

“What…”

Garen stared, dazed, at the face reflected in the water—familiar, yet strange:

“It really is Garen?”

When he’d first awoken, Garen had noticed his body was utterly changed. But only now did he confirm who he had become.

“From now on…”

He flexed his muscular arm, gazing at his strong, handsome reflection in the water:

“I am Garen now, aren’t I?”

His Chinese name instantly transformed into its English form; even the pronunciation was different.

“Wait…”

Garen suddenly clenched his fist, frustration welling up as he muttered to himself:

“If I’ve been reborn as Garen, then where’s my armor? Where’s my great sword?!”

Clad only in leaves, clutching a stick in place of his great sword, Garen felt dizzy with indignation.

“And shouldn’t Garen be a noble general?!”

Surveying the godforsaken wilderness around him, he ground his teeth and complained:

“Where’s my top-tier transmigration treatment?”

“My castle, my maids, my bodyguards, the decadent life of a feudal noble?”

“And my high-born prince buddies, my adorable magical girl little sister…”

Sigh…

He lamented for a long time before finally returning to reality.

The silence pressed in from all sides, so profound it was almost deathly. Alone and abandoned in the wild, Garen suddenly felt a pang of loneliness.

He wondered how his family was doing, and what had become of his gaming friend.

He might never see them again.

Wait…

A sudden thought struck Garen: Since he’d chosen Garen as his hero and ended up transmigrating as Garen…

If his friend also transmigrated, wouldn’t he become a toad?

Ha!

If that fool really became Tahm Kench, the River King, would he have to search for a mate among the she-toads?

Garen couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

For the first time, Garen felt fortunate: out of all the bizarre champions in League, he’d picked a relatively normal human hero, one who even shared his name, and was the very archetype of the tough guy he admired.

Looking at his tall, strong body and gleaming muscles…

The fitness bet he’d signed in his previous life had finally paid off here.

Now that he thought about it, maybe this predicament—hungry and half-naked—wasn’t so bad after all.

Guu—guu—

His stomach, empty for a day, rumbled like thunder.

Garen’s “survivor’s smile” froze instantly.

He was hungry. Extremely hungry.

This powerful body possessed strength beyond anything Garen could have imagined in his former life.

His strength, speed, and stamina surpassed even Olympic champions—a truly inhuman physique.

But that meant he grew hungry easily…

Just one day without food, and Garen found himself desperate enough to crave even a Snickers bar.

Yet after wandering the forest for a full day and night, he’d found nothing edible. Not even a single fish in the clear stream before him…

Sigh…

Garen could only bend down again, drinking a few more mouthfuls to fill his empty stomach.

He stood, using his wooden staff for support, and strode back into the forest, plunging into the towering grass beneath the trees.

The grass here was thick and tall—so much so that even Garen, almost two meters tall, couldn’t see over it.

He really had transmigrated to another world…

No forest on Earth had grass this tall; even reeds by the water weren’t so imposing.

Buried deep in the grass, Garen kept thinking of all the delectable dishes from his homeland.

He wanted meat.

Cured meat, smoked meat, braised pork, twice-cooked pork, spicy boiled pork, sweet and sour pork, crispy fried pork, shredded pork with egg, ham, steamed pork with rice flour, char siu, crispy pork, Sichuan white pork with garlic sauce…

So what good was transmigrating to another world?

Was there any universe out there that could match his homeland’s mastery of meat?

Garen’s hunger grew more intense just thinking about it.

“Woof, woof…”

A sound—something alive?

Garen’s eyes grew sharp. He raised his thick wooden staff high.

All the delicious meat dishes he’d just imagined seemed to take physical form, channeling into raw power that surged into his grip.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

The barking grew louder, clearly approaching.

A dog?

Garen paused, his grip loosening.

He’d never eaten dog meat before.

He wasn’t one of those extreme animal lovers who block roads in the name of love, and he respected others’ preferences and customs.

But as someone who’d kept a dog in his last life, he would never try eating dog meat himself.

“Woof, woof, woof, woof…”

The barking drew ever closer.

Sigh…

Once more, Garen instinctively tightened his grip on the stick, torn with inner conflict.

No! Dogs are so cute—how could anyone eat a dog?

He reaffirmed his resolve.

Guu—guu—

His belly growled even louder.

No!

Even if it means starving to death, dying out here, or jumping into the stream, I, Garen, will not eat a bite of dog meat!

Guu—guu—

“Woof, woof, woof, woof…”

Guu—guu—

Garen pushed through the grass and leapt out.

He raised his staff high, slicing through the air with force.

“Demacia!”