Erik had witnessed his father being killed by the Black Panther when he was still a child. From that moment on, hatred took root in his heart. He became obsessed with overthrowing the Black Panther's rule over Wakanda—though in truth, it was all built upon a grave misunderstanding, one he himself did not yet realize.
Ulysses' palm suddenly flashed with blue light. The thick bulletproof glass instantly shattered. One of his hands was artificial—he had lost the real one long ago while fleeing Wakanda.
Picking up the metal pickaxe, Ulysses gripped its pointed head with his prosthetic hand. A high-frequency vibration surged through it, and the black corrosion on the surface instantly crumbled away, revealing the alluring metallic sheen of vibranium beneath.
That's right—this so-called seventh-century "artifact" was forged entirely from vibranium. Wakandan vibranium.
"We've hit the jackpot, Erik!"
Ulysses stuck out his tongue and licked his lips, his excitement obvious once the vibranium was confirmed.
"Have you found a buyer?" Erik asked, removing his glasses and crushing them in his hand.
"Already arranged," Erik replied calmly.
Ulysses grinned, snapped the long handle in half, and carried the vibranium pickhead as he followed Erik out at a brisk pace.
"Wakanda will come after you," Erik said, his eyes fixed on a demon-shaped mask nearby.
"That's perfect," Ulysses replied indifferently. "I've been short on cash lately anyway."
He had escaped Wakanda once before without consequence—he was confident he could do it again.
"That thing's made of vibranium too?" Ulysses asked, noticing Erik staring at the mask.
"What kind of eyes do you have?" Erik scoffed. "That's obviously leather."
He stood up and casually took the demon mask with him.
The group boarded an ambulance that had already been waiting outside. The woman from the front desk was seated inside. When she saw Erik, she tossed her phone aside and wrapped her arms around him. On the phone's screen was the museum's entire surveillance system.
No wonder the alarms never went off—she had hacked the system long ago, altering all the surveillance feeds and security alerts.
Moments later, the ambulance sped away, disappearing down the road.
---
A few days later, sunlight shimmered across the rippling surface of a vast lake. Dozens of warships slowly approached from the distance. Accompanied by passionate dances and thunderous drums, Wakandan soldiers stood in perfect formation atop the ships, waving spears that gleamed with cold light, moving in rhythm with the beat.
Today was the coronation of Wakanda's new king.
Prince T'Challa would formally undergo the ritual and ascend the throne.
As the drums reached their climax and abruptly stopped, the soldiers slammed their spears downward in unison. An invisible sonic wave spread instantly from beneath the ships.
From the depths of the lake, three massive cylindrical structures slowly rose, voraciously drawing in the surrounding water. Gradually, the flow from upstream to downstream was completely cut off, revealing a canyon dozens of meters deep beneath the lake.
Gazing at the towering waterfalls and the sheer gorge below, Lucas couldn't help recalling a poem from his previous life—"The torrent plunges three thousand feet, as though the Milky Way fell from the heavens." Though he had never seen Mount Lu's waterfall in person, he imagined it must look much like this.
At the bottom of the canyon lay a wide stone platform. The group made their way through a tunnel and arrived there. The water on the platform barely reached their ankles—this was the sacred site where every Wakandan king had been crowned.
Lucas and Tony stood nearby, wide-eyed with curiosity, like two children, beside Shuri and Queen Ramonda.
A ship descended slowly toward the platform. Its hatch opened, and Prince T'Challa stepped out, holding a shield and spear.
His upper body was bare, black panther patterns painted across his shoulders and chest. His powerful muscles and solid frame made him look unshakable, like a living monument.
Facing representatives from dozens of tribes, T'Challa stood solemnly at the center of the stone platform, spear and shield in hand, awaiting the start of the ceremony.
An elder priest clad in purple robes stepped forward. His face bore sacred markings, adorned with ritual ornaments, and he carried a ceremonial spear. As he advanced, the drums and chants faded away, leaving only the roar of waterfalls crashing against stone.
"Leaders of the tribes, warriors of Wakanda," the priest proclaimed, "I, Zuri, hereby announce Prince T'Challa as the candidate for the next Black Panther. May the glory of our ancestors endure forever!"
Cheers erupted around them. T'Challa knelt on one knee, arms crossed over his chest.
"Now," Zuri continued, "if any wish to challenge the Black Panther, by tradition, there are only two outcomes—submission, or death!"
He struck the ground with his spear, and a powerful sonic wave rippled outward.
"Is there any warrior who would challenge? I will grant the ritual blessing, and he shall duel T'Challa."
This time, silence answered him. Every tribe present acknowledged T'Challa as the rightful successor, willing to entrust Wakanda's future to him.
"Tony," Lucas whispered, nudging him lightly, "don't you feel like this is just for show? Like everything was decided long ago, and this is just a formality."
"Well… now that you mention it…"
Tony rubbed his chin, clearly having noticed the same thing.
"You think if I raised my hand right now, what would happen?" Tony said mischievously.
"He's not even wearing his suit. If I went up there in armor, beat him, wouldn't that make me king of Wakanda? Then vibranium would be everywhere for me."
Lucas rolled his eyes. Tony truly dared to think big. If he actually tried that, neither of them would ever leave Wakanda alive.
"Go ahead, Tony. Don't worry," Lucas said, edging a little farther away. "I'll take good care of Pepper for you. Just don't say you know me when you're up there, alright?"
Tony immediately bristled.
"Hey—what do you mean by that?!"
They were still bickering when an elderly man stepped forward, accompanied by a powerfully built young warrior.
"The Merchant Tribe raises no objection to the prince's succession," the elder announced loudly.
Next, a group of warriors draped in cloth stepped forward—the border patrol tribe.
"The Border Tribe relinquishes its right to challenge!" declared their imposing leader, Wakanda's general. His son stood beside him, one of T'Challa's closest aides—and the husband of Okoye.
"We of the River Tribe also raise no objection," said a man whose lips and ears were adorned with large circular plates. Standing beside him was his daughter—Nakia, T'Challa's former lover and future queen.
Likewise, the leader of the Mining Tribe voiced no opposition.
After all the tribal leaders had spoken, the high priest finally turned his gaze toward Queen Ramonda's tribe—the royal family of Wakanda itself.
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