Chapter 155: Wakanda

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Wakabi dismounted from the rhinoceros and, speaking respectfully, took out a high-tech device made of Vibranium from behind his back, handing it solemnly to the Leopard. Without much ado, the Leopard once again lifted his lower lip, aligning the blue symbol engraved there with the device’s scanner.

A soft blue light flickered, and the device emitted a gentle beep. The onlookers surrounding them collectively relaxed, joy spreading across their faces. It was clear that the Leopard had passed the test—he was indeed a member of Wakanda’s royal bloodline.

Seeing this, Wakabi quickly handed the device to a nearby attendant and led a richly adorned rhinoceros toward the Leopard.

“Your Highness has just returned, and I have yet to report to His Majesty the King. Please stay temporarily at the border tribe. After I have reported to the King, I will personally escort you to Birnin Zana.”

“Much appreciated.”

The Leopard nodded. Under the diligent protection of several border tribe guards, he mounted the rhinoceros and set off toward the border tribe.

After the Leopard settled at the border tribe, Wakabi went straight to the royal city, Birnin Zana.

As one of the five great tribal leaders, even though it was late at night, the old king, T’Chaka, personally received him.

“Wakabi, you’re not patrolling the border tribes. Why are you here at the royal city? Has something happened on the border?” the old king asked.

Wakabi did not dare to neglect protocol; he knelt on one knee and relayed the news of the Leopard’s arrival.

The old king was shocked. He sprang from his chair with a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide as he stared at Wakabi. “What did you say? That man claims to be the son of N’Jobu? Is this true?”

“Absolutely,” Wakabi nodded. “His Highness said that Prince N’Jobu was killed twenty years ago. He learned of Wakanda’s existence from his father’s belongings and has returned now specifically to visit His Majesty and pay respects.”

“He also wishes, if possible, to obtain the King’s permission to return Prince N’Jobu’s remains to his homeland, to rest among his ancestors.”

Hearing this, the old king’s gaze became deeply complex.

As an elder brother, King T’Chaka had always cherished N’Jobu dearly. When N’Jobu once committed a grave offense that shook the foundation of the nation, the king never thought of punishing him but chose instead to privately confront him, hoping to make him realize his mistakes.

Unexpectedly, N’Jobu chose to resist arrest and was killed during the ensuing conflict.

This burden had weighed heavily on the old king’s mind ever since. Learning now that his late brother had a son stirred a maelstrom of emotions within him.

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The old king’s longing and guilt for his brother transformed wholly into respect for the Leopard at this moment. He declared, “Since he is N’Jobu’s son, he is a prince of Wakanda.”

“Wakabi, I order you to personally escort Eric to the royal city at dawn tomorrow to pay homage. Also, send my command to the five tribal leaders and royal family members to prepare a welcoming ceremony for Prince Eric.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Wakabi responded swiftly.

Given the old king’s regard for the Leopard, Wakabi did not rest that night; he hurried back to the border tribe to share the good news with the Leopard.

Not only that—he stayed up all night organizing an honor guard, planning to escort him to the royal city with the highest level of ceremony.

At dawn the next day, under the protection of numerous rhinoceros guards, the Leopard set out toward Wakanda’s royal city nestled among the mountains—Birnin Zana.

Having been fully penetrated by the Soul Extraction Curse, the Leopard and Gu Zhongyan shared a kind of mental connection. Through his eyes, Gu Zhongyan could catch a glimpse of the entirety of Wakanda.

Upon learning that the Leopard was about to arrive at the royal city, Gu Zhongyan set aside all else, linking his consciousness with his, eager to witness firsthand the most technologically advanced nation on Earth.

Under the escort of the border tribe, Wakanda’s protective shield slowly parted, revealing a magnificent city bathed in the morning light.

Watching the shield open gradually, Gu Zhongyan silently thanked his luck for not attempting to sneak into Wakanda.

What seemed to be merely a protective barrier concealed a wealth of advanced technology. From it, Gu Zhongyan distinctly sensed spatial lockdown energy. Should anyone try to teleport in unauthorized, these shields would teach them a harsh lesson.

Amidst the towering mountains, the river sparkled in the sunlight, as if narrating the grandeur of this place.

Following the riverbank, a city infused with a distinctly high-tech aura emerged. Its style was unlike any other nation or civilization on Earth.

The Wakandans had incorporated technological elements into their originally rugged, bold architecture, as if artificially melding distinct eras together—barbarism laced with civilization, tribal culture imbued with cutting-edge technology. This was Wakanda.

Passing through the city encircled by a high-speed monorail, the group arrived at the palace. Gu Zhongyan even caught sight of the royal guard from the films.

A group of statuesque Black women clad in red battle attire, wielding exquisite spears, their glossy heads free of a single hair. From afar, one might mistake them for Shaolin monks, unsure of their gender.

Upon reaching the palace, the border tribe soldiers withdrew, replaced by the royal guard who escorted them inside.

Seeing this, Gu Zhongyan thought to himself that royal guards and palace sentries seemed universally standard—even in an African tribe, the same protocol applied.

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Under the escort of two groups of ‘Shaolin monks,’ the party entered the palace and arrived at a minimalist hall suffused with high-tech ambiance.

At the center sat a white-robed elder, his plump figure paired with a kind smile, resembling a benevolent mascot.

Gu Zhongyan knew this was the former Black Panther, King T’Chaka.

Aside from the old king, six chairs were arranged in the hall, divided on either side facing the monarch.

On the left sat a middle-aged Black woman in white robes, wearing a hat resembling a chef’s toque. Beside her was a Black little girl. They were the queen and Princess Shuri from the films.

Of the remaining five chairs, four were occupied by tribal leaders dressed in peculiar attire; the last chair remained empty.

Though Gu Zhongyan had seen them in the movies, witnessing in person the elderly woman with enormous golden earrings dwarfing her head, the middle-aged man with a palm-sized plate embedded in his lips, and the woman with a whip-like hairstyle resembling a cow’s tail made him twitch involuntarily.

How had such bizarre styles persisted until now?

Compared to them, Wakabi’s face, which looked as if he suffered from claustrophobia, seemed far more refined.

In the entire hall, the most pleasing sight was the young man standing behind the old king, dressed in a black, subtly patterned suit, his posture tall and resolute like a pine tree—the future king of Wakanda, Black Panther T’Challa.

[End of chapter content.]

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