"Are you serious?" Tony said. "I don't see anything wrong with that guide. If anything, he seemed pretty enthusiastic."
Naturally, Tony couldn't tell that the guide was wrapped head to toe in advanced technology.
"Let's observe him a bit longer," Lucas replied calmly. "Seeing the real Wakanda was never going to be easy."
The two of them returned to their respective rooms to rest.
Around midnight, both Lucas and Tony jolted awake at the same time. A low, buzzing hum passed overhead—quiet, yet unnaturally distinct.
They stepped out onto their balconies simultaneously and saw a streak of blue light flash past in the distance. Lucas recognized it immediately.
"That was a Wakandan aircraft," he said.
Tony leaned over the railing and called out, "What was that thing just now?"
Their suites were adjacent, separated only by a wall, so speaking across the balconies was easy.
"A Wakandan ship. Let's follow it and take a look."
Lucas quickly got dressed as his cloak floated over and settled onto his shoulders. With a sharp whistle, he mounted Onion and shot straight into the sky. At the same time, a gold-and-red armored figure streaked upward, trailing blazing exhaust.
The two of them sped off in pursuit of the aircraft.
---
At the same moment, deep within the forest below, a convoy of five trucks was speeding along a dirt road. The wheels sank deeply into the ground, making it obvious the vehicles were heavily loaded.
A jeep led the convoy, with another bringing up the rear. Every person inside wore a mask and carried a firearm.
"We're now directly above them, Prince T'Challa," a voice reported.
Inside the Wakandan aircraft, a bald woman sat cross-legged as if meditating. In reality, she was piloting the ship.
High above the forest, the cloaked aircraft gradually revealed its true form.
T'Challa stepped toward the central console. In the middle of the cockpit was a massive black sand table filled with magnetized sand. It shifted automatically, perfectly recreating the convoy below in real time.
T'Challa reached out and lifted the central truck from the projection, brushing away the roof of the cargo compartment. Instantly, the interior was revealed.
Ten figures sat inside. Due to the sand-table simulation, their features were indistinct—but one figure glowed a faint orange-red.
That was his target.
The aircraft switched to autopilot. The bald woman stepped forward and grasped the spear she never left behind. The weapon gleamed silver from tip to shaft, forged seamlessly from vibranium, its blade radiating lethal sharpness.
Her intent was obvious, but T'Challa stopped her.
"It's fine, Okoye," he said calmly. "I can handle this myself. Don't forget—I'm the prince of Wakanda."
T'Challa wore a sleek black bodysuit, its metallic sheen reflecting the cabin lights. The necklace of silver fangs across his chest added a savage, primal edge to his presence.
"All right," Okoye replied. "I trust you."
She didn't argue, but her expression said everything. Her duty was to protect T'Challa—she was prepared to take a bullet for him without hesitation.
It wasn't that she lacked confidence. It was simply that T'Challa had not yet consumed the heart-shaped herb. For now, all his combat ability depended entirely on the Black Panther suit.
"Prepare the drop," T'Challa said. "I'm going to rescue Nakia."
He put on the panther-shaped helmet. Okoye handed him five small black beads.
"Try not to freeze up when you see her," she teased. "This is a real battlefield."
She knew the history between T'Challa and Nakia—she was the woman who had nearly become Wakanda's queen.
"What are you talking about? Why would I freeze?" T'Challa said, momentarily stunned.
Before he could react further, he waved impatiently, signaling her to open the hatch.
With his arms crossed over his chest, T'Challa stepped forward. The floor beneath him vanished, and he dropped straight through the opening.
This was nearly a thousand meters above the ground.
Without a parachute, T'Challa plummeted in free fall.
When he was roughly a hundred meters from the ground, he flung the five black beads downward. They spun rapidly in midair, transforming into thin, coin-sized discs.
Each disc landed precisely on the hood of one of the five vehicles, glowing blue as they activated.
Thunk—thunk—thunk—
All five vehicles shut down simultaneously. Engines died, electronics failed, and the lead jeep lost control, flipping violently to the side.
Headlights went dark. The area was plunged into total darkness, broken only by insect chirps and the distant, indistinct howls of animals.
"What the hell just happened?!" the leader shouted.
He ordered his men out of the vehicles to investigate.
"Boss, the engines won't start," one of them reported.
"What the—" the leader muttered as he stepped toward the hood.
There, stuck firmly in place, was one of the glowing metal discs.
Everyone saw it. A curious man even tried prying it off, but it was completely immovable.
"All units, defensive formation," the leader barked. "Something's wrong."
Years of dealing in human trafficking had forged his caution. Instinct screamed that they were being ambushed.
"You—check the cargo," he ordered.
The man nodded and hurried to the truck, pulling back the black tarp. Inside were mostly women, all terrified—except one.
Nakia.
Her expression was calm, her gaze steady, as if she were already looking at a dead man.
"Behave yourselves," the guard warned.
Suddenly—
Woof! Woof!
A stray dog appeared from nowhere, barking furiously at the crown of a nearby tree.
The group turned toward the sound. The leader raised his gun and shot the dog dead, then activated his flashlight, aiming it into the treetop.
There, crouched among the branches, was a black silhouette—like a panther poised to strike.
In the next instant, it leapt.
Razor-sharp claws slashed across a man's throat, killing him instantly. Another was kicked away, his body flying like a cannonball into a nearby vehicle.
Boom.
The car door caved inward. Every bone in the man's body shattered on impact.
"Fire! Open fire!!" the leader screamed.
Gunfire erupted. Bullets poured toward T'Challa.
He didn't dodge.
The rounds struck his suit and bounced away harmlessly, like raindrops. He didn't feel a thing.
Then he vanished into the darkness.
When he reappeared, it was behind them—his movements fluid, lethal, and silent, just like a true apex predator ruling the night.
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