Chapter 381: The Leopard Wins, the Black Panther Falls
Allen, Namor, and Morgan moved to the viewing platform nearby.
The Battle for the Throne was the most sacred ritual in Wakanda.
Any new king had the right to consume the Heart-Shaped Herb, enter the ancestral realm through the spiritual plane, meet with the royal forebears, and earn their blessing.
At that moment, Shuri quietly approached Allen, her voice filled with disbelief. "You're really Tony's uncle?"
Allen looked no more than twenty-something at best, while Tony was nearly fifty.
"Back in the day, I worked with Howard—Tony's dad—at S.H.I.E.L.D. during World War II. We were tight. Real tight," Allen said earnestly. "We were like soulmates—kindred spirits. One look, one nod, and bam! Sworn brothers, different fathers and mothers. We didn't ask to live or die on the same day, just not to die on the same day of different years."
"…"
Shuri didn't buy it. She felt there was something seriously off about Allen—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"He's not right in the head," Namor whispered, tapping his temple.
Shuri had already messaged Tony in secret to verify.
They did know Allen. Once they confirmed Morgan was safe, they stopped asking questions.
Right now, the Avengers were still investigating the Extremis group. Tony realized that keeping his daughter close might actually be more dangerous.
Allen might be unreliable—but at least he was safe.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the tunnel, holding a shield and a battle axe. Aside from a waist-length skirt of armor, he wore no other protection. His long dreadlocks made him stand out—most Wakandans wore short or shaved hair, as long hair was difficult to manage.
As Leopard Erik stepped onto the stage, a sharp hostility flashed in Shuri's eyes.
As the sister of the current king, she naturally resented this relative who sought to usurp her brother's throne.
"This guy's got issues."
Allen stared at the tribal tattoos on Erik's chest, then bluntly asked, "He's so dark-skinned, what's the point of those tattoos? You can't even tell what they are."
"…"
He had a point.
From a distance, it just looked like a patch of dirt he hadn't washed off.
Before long, T'Challa—Black Panther—took the stage.
Wearing the same traditional garb, but wielding a short sword instead.
The two stood face to face, waiting for the tribal chieftains to announce the start.
Up on the cliff, the crowd was already in a frenzy.
The throne battle barred the use of advanced technology—only primal, hand-to-hand combat would decide the victor.
"Fight! Fight! Fight...!"
The chants echoed as the duel began.
T'Challa and Erik didn't rush into it. They circled, eyes locked, each seeking the other's weakness.
With the ring of clashing steel, the battle commenced in full.
Evenly matched, the two exchanged blow after blow.
The watching crowd was boiling with excitement.
"Pirate King, who do you think will win?" Allen asked deliberately.
The expected outcome was a Leopard victory, even though T'Challa held a slight early advantage.
"My bet's on T'Challa. I've fought him—his combat experience is no joke," Namor replied confidently.
"My brother will win for sure. Erik trying to seize the throne is pure delusion," Shuri vowed.
"Grandpa, why are they fighting?" Morgan asked, her eyes wide, trying to spot the bad guy.
"Because love turned into hate," Allen said solemnly.
"What does that mean?" Morgan asked, confused.
"It means they used to love each other, but society didn't let them be together. So that love twisted into hate—they couldn't bring themselves to sacrifice for each other anymore…"
Allen spouted nonsense with a straight face, and Morgan looked at him with starry-eyed admiration, utterly convinced her grandpa knew everything.
Shuri's face darkened.
"Stop!"
Suddenly, Erik shouted for a halt. T'Challa gave him a questioning look.
Erik pointed his axe straight at Allen in the stands and shouted angrily, "Say one more damn word and I'll cut you down right here. There's a limit to BS—try me."
One more word and you die.
"Someone's getting touchy—guess I hit the truth," Allen smirked. "I don't judge you. Say it loud: love is love. I support you."
"I support you too," Morgan chimed in.
"F**k off!"
Furious, Erik hurled his axe straight at them, killing intent burning in his eyes.
The spinning axe whistled through the air.
The crowd gasped.
But Allen casually raised two fingers and caught the blade mid-air with ease. With a taunting look, he asked, "That's it?"
"…"
Erik's expression shifted—shock, disbelief, then icy calm.
"Here, take it back."
Allen flicked the axe back.
It spun through the air, howling with force.
Erik's pupils contracted as a chill ran down his spine. He dodged without hesitation.
Boom!
A loud crash followed.
The axe slammed into the spot he'd just been standing, exploding water into the air. The shockwave carved out a hole in the water's surface, and the blade embedded itself deep into the shattered rocks.
The display stunned not only Erik, but T'Challa too—his eyes now wary. The crowd turned solemn.
That throw had been effortless. If that wasn't even full strength, the results of a serious strike were unimaginable.
"Continue."
Erik retrieved his axe and resumed the fight.
Allen didn't stir up any more trouble and quietly waited.
"T'Challa's going to lose."
A quiet bombshell.
Only those on the viewing platform heard it. But because of Allen's terrifying strength, no one dared contradict him.
"Impossible! I believe in my brother!" Shuri protested.
But Namor's grim face said it all—he had already noticed T'Challa was falling behind.
Bang!
T'Challa was a second too slow.
A heavy punch landed square on his face.
Erik seized the opening.
A barrage of blows followed.
T'Challa was drifting into unconsciousness.
"Get up!!"
Shuri tried to rush forward in panic, but the guards blocked her with raised weapons, silently reminding her—royalty must not violate tradition.
If the royal family broke the rules, the tribes would never again heed their command.
Now, T'Challa couldn't stand.
Erik wouldn't waste his chance for revenge. Lifting the son of the man he hated most, he turned to the crowd, silently declaring himself the rightful king.
Wakandans fell into stunned silence.
Their eyes filled with disbelief.
King T'Challa had ruled with wisdom and compassion, enacting countless policies that had benefited their people. In their eyes, he had been the perfect king.
"Stop!"
Queen Ramonda suddenly rose, crying out to halt Erik's next move.
T'Challa was raised high above.
Erik strode to the platform's edge, looked coldly toward the stands—then hurled T'Challa over the waterfall.
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