WARMONGER: (Warmonger MReader x Harem)

We hereby sentence you to 10 years of prison!(REVISED)

"We hereby sentence Prince Angular Agatha to ten years in Brightwurst Prison for the crimes of witchcraft, warmongering, and finally... devil worship."

The judge's voice echoed through the high-vaulted courtroom, his words final and absolute. Murmurs filled the chamber, the crowd a sea of faces ranging from shock to smug satisfaction. Y/N L/N, standing in the accused's box, felt his heart thud in his chest. Witchcraft? Warmongering? Devil worship?

He looked around the courtroom, confusion gnawing at him. This wasn't right—none of this was his life. He had died back on Earth, in a hail of bullets, and yet here he was. But it wasn't him standing there.

He caught his reflection in a polished metal plate embedded in the wood of the dock. Staring back at him was a young man, taller than Y/N had ever been, with sharp, noble features. This isn't me. He was tall—too tall, his body strong and broad, but strangely youthful. His hands, bound in shackles, were bigger than they should be. He blinked, and fragments of unfamiliar memories flooded his mind.

Prince Angular Agatha. He was no longer Y/N L/N. At least, not entirely.

As if reading his confusion, the judge continued, his voice growing harder with each word. "Does the accused have any final words before the sentence is carried out?"

Y/N felt a tightening in his chest, a blend of panic and indignation. If this body, this person, was royalty—why was he being thrown into a dungeon? Desperately, he tried to adopt the persona he had been thrust into.

"This is a mistake!" He struggled to keep his voice steady, to sound like the prince he was now supposed to be. "You can't do this! I am your crown prince!"

His plea echoed through the courtroom, but the response was far from sympathetic. Jeers rang out from the crowd, and a voice cried out: "This sentence was ordered by your father, Prince Angular!"

Y/N froze. My father? His mind raced. The memories flooding in told him that King Aeran Agatha was his father, but this betrayal made no sense. Why would a king condemn his own son to ten years in prison? And for what? The crimes seemed absurd—devil worship?

"Your father ordered this!" another voice shouted from the gallery, before being silenced by the judge's gavel. "Prince Angular is to be imprisoned for ten years, without parole, unless King Aeran falls ill or dies. No reprieve will be granted. Court dismissed!"

The crowd began to disperse, but Y/N—Angular, he reminded himself—was left standing in stunned silence. He barely noticed as the guards approached, heavy iron chains rattling in their hands. He had no choice but to comply as they clamped the shackles around his wrists, the weight of the chains pulling him down.

Why wasn't he being executed? In a world like this, execution would be the expected punishment for witchcraft or devil worship, he thought. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

.
..
...

The guards dragged Angular out of the courtroom and into the streets of Noxus, the capital of the Agathian Empire. As the grand doors opened, Y/N was struck by the beauty and vibrancy of the world beyond. The city was alive, bustling with soldiers, merchants, and adventurers from faraway lands. The architecture was a striking blend of medieval stone towers and ornate, gold-tipped spires. Sunlight poured down, glinting off the armor of the city's elite guard.

But it was more than just a beautiful city. There was an energy to it, something Y/N couldn't quite describe. The air was so crisp, so clean compared to the pollution of his former life. And yet, as he took in the surroundings, memories—Angular's memories—began to seep into his consciousness. They weren't clear, more like blurred images and feelings, but one thing became certain: Noxus was his home, and these streets had once adored him. But now, people glared at him with a mixture of disdain and sorrow.