Chapter 382: Overinterpreting Allen
Black Panther T'Challa plummeted down the waterfall.
It was a rushing river, winding deep into the untamed interior of Africa.
With its many branching tributaries inhabited by piranhas and crocodiles, drowning here was almost certainly fatal.
Moments ago, several tribal chieftains, loyal to T'Challa, had jumped to their feet in alarm.
They wanted to rescue him—but a new king had been crowned, and they now had to obey Erik's command.
The royal duel for the throne was sacred. Life or death was part of the ritual.
Unless the new king was merciful and chose to spare his opponent's life, the battle ended in blood.
And Erik, who came seeking revenge for his father's death, clearly had no intention of mercy.
Throwing T'Challa off the waterfall was a clear statement—he meant to kill him.
With arms open wide, Erik shouted loudly, "Why haven't you knelt to your king?"
The common people watching from the crowd were the first to kneel—they had no choice in the matter.
All the chieftains and the royal guards turned to look at Queen Ramonda.
When the Black Panther was absent, it was often Ramonda who governed. She held real political power.
But she was also a mother—her heart lay with her son, and she wanted to preserve the monarchy's stability.
The elite female warriors, loyal to the royal family, gripped their spears tightly, ready to lay down their lives in support of the queen.
"Are you defying tradition?" Erik smirked, his gaze filled with mockery as he stared down Ramonda's grief and fury, clearly hoping she'd violate the sacred rites.
In Wakanda, tradition was paramount. It was akin to an unbreakable constitution.
If Ramonda refused to acknowledge him as king, Erik would have every justification to remove her.
He could take full control of Wakanda without opposition.
As for the chieftains? He didn't care. They weren't in a position to question his legitimacy.
"Hail the King," Ramonda finally said, deep in calculation.
She was shrewd. If she acted on emotion and defied the ceremony, she'd lose her chance to avenge T'Challa—and might also doom Shuri in the process.
She had already lost one child. She wouldn't lose another.
With her concession, the other chieftains followed suit and knelt.
Only Allen and his two companions remained seated, immediately drawing Erik's ire.
"You dare defy my authority?" he said, brows furrowing.
"Nope," Allen answered earnestly. "I just look down on you."
Gasp—
Namor sucked in a sharp breath.
Bro… Could you not go nuts here of all places? This is Wakanda.
Erik froze, caught off guard. He hadn't expected such brazen disrespect.
This was Wakanda. Their army couldn't be compared to those of human nations. Even if Iron Man came here, his chest reactor would get blown to pieces.
How strong was this guy that he dared insult a nation?
Though the royal guards were outraged, they hesitated to move. Erik seemed more upset than they were, and some even felt a strange satisfaction.
"I hope you maintain that attitude," Erik said with a twisted smile.
Having grown up in America, Erik had endured racial discrimination firsthand.
But here in Wakanda, where everyone was dark-skinned, such issues didn't exist. No one cared about skin color.
"Attitude?" Allen grinned. "Ever since I stopped taking my meds, I've been in a great mood. From personal experience, I can confirm—mental illness isn't real. It's just a capitalist conspiracy."
"…"
Erik took a deep breath and ordered, "Seize him."
From his speech and behavior, Erik was beginning to suspect this man wasn't normal.
Good. He was an outsider. Killing him wouldn't affect Erik's claim to the throne.
"Pirate King, run!" Allen yelled, scooping Morgan onto his back and shouting to Namor.
Boom!
In a flash, Allen leapt from the viewing platform down to the ritual platform.
Namor simultaneously took to the skies, preparing to escape.
Having fought T'Challa several times, Namor believed they could talk—there was mutual respect. Erik, however, showed none.
He'd made it clear—victory meant death to the loser. And now, Namor feared Erik would seize this chance to wipe out his people.
Yet Namor couldn't fight back. Doing so would give Erik the excuse to start a war.
"What are you doing?" Erik flinched as Allen landed before him.
Suddenly, he recalled this guy's terrifying strength—he wasn't someone Erik could beat.
"You know I'm afraid of the dark, right?" Allen said grimly. "And you still tried to scare me."
Wham!
With a spinning whip-kick, Allen struck.
Erik could see the attack coming, but his body couldn't keep up.
Next thing he knew, he was flying like a broken kite.
"Protect the king!" someone shouted.
Clearly, many had already accepted Erik's rule and saw this as a chance to win favor—now was the time to act if they wanted a rise in rank.
A soldier hurled a spear at Namor mid-flight.
Hearing the sound, Namor turned and sensed danger, trying to dodge—but he was a second too slow.
The spear tore a deep gash across his leg.
The pain caused the wings on his ankles to flap erratically, and he lost balance, plunging into the waterfall.
Of course, Namor lived in water. Drowning wasn't a concern.
Meanwhile, Allen—having booted Erik—leapt off the cliff with Morgan, tossing a meaningful glance at Queen Ramonda as he fell.
The soldiers stared down into the waterfall, but the mist and churning waters obscured everything. No sign of them.
"Deploy airships! Hunt them down!"
Pfft!
Erik staggered to his feet, barely holding back the pain. As he gave the order, he vomited blood and passed out.
Seeing this, Wakanda's factions split in two.
One group of chieftains rushed to aid the new king.
The other, led by Ramonda, stood by, unmoved.
An unconscious Erik was a golden opportunity.
Blinded by hatred, Shuri stealthily reached for her sonic gauntlets, hoping to end things in one blast.
Ramonda appeared beside her, stopping her with a hand on her arm and a steady gaze.
She shook her head slightly—don't do something foolish.
As Erik was carried off for medical treatment, most of the crowd dispersed, leaving only Ramonda, Shuri, and their loyal female warriors.
Now alone, Shuri snapped, "Mother, why didn't you let me take revenge?"
"You're throwing your life away," Ramonda said seriously. "If you kill the new king, you'll be executed. I won't lose you too."
Indeed, even if Shuri succeeded, she'd still be sentenced to death. Worse, it would spark civil war.
If the royal family was wiped out, the tribal chieftains would have no reason to uphold tradition—and they'd fight to install a new ruling house.
Ramonda would be the first to go.
"So T'Challa died for nothing?" Shuri cried, tears brimming.
"No…"
Ramonda hugged her tightly and whispered, "Your brother might not be dead."
"…"
Shuri stared blankly, unable to comprehend.
T'Challa had fallen, grievously wounded, from a cliff. Even an uninjured man might not survive that fall.
Ramonda gave her a sidelong glance. "You're usually smart when you're inventing. What happened to that clever little brain?"
"Namor's outsider friend is helping us."
"He's helping us!?"
Shuri was stunned. Allen's mental state and racist remarks had left a terrible impression.
"Before he left, he kicked Erik to buy us time," Ramonda explained.
"The Heart-Shaped Herb!" Shuri exclaimed.
To become king, one had to consume the herb to unlock their full potential.
Erik, being severely injured, wasn't in any condition to take it. Doing so could even kill him.
"Exactly."
Ramonda continued, "As long as he hasn't taken the herb, he's not officially king."
"But why would Allen help us?" Shuri still couldn't make sense of it.
"It's not hard to guess," Ramonda said. "He doesn't want us to attack the Atlanteans. And by escaping through the waterfall, they likely plan to rescue T'Challa. If he returns, he can rightfully reclaim the throne."
Shuri finally understood.
She had to admit—her mother's wisdom was incredible. Her view of Allen flipped completely.
"So that lunatic is actually playing 4D chess…" she murmured.
"We need to use every contact we have now to prevent Erik from making any moves against the sea people."
Now that they had a plan, Ramonda led her allies into action.
…
By the roaring river, herds of wildebeest came to drink.
Predatory crocodiles lurked below the surface, waiting to strike.
Once a target got close enough, they'd lunge, dragging it underwater for a deadly spin.
"Hyah! Crocodile Knight conquers the river!"
"I am the Dragon King of the River!"
Two massive crocodiles cruised across the river's surface—carrying Allen and Morgan on their backs.
They had left Wakanda, grabbing some crocodiles along the way for transport.
How to tame them?
Well… Allen explained things with his fists.
Because Allen was very persuasive—not just verbally, but physically.
Whack!
Suddenly, a figure burst from the river.
It was Namor, hauling a badly injured T'Challa to shore.
"Turn!"
Allen guided his croc to the bank with a punch, quickly regrouping with Namor.
"Arigato~!"
Once ashore, Allen bowed politely to the crocodile.
Morgan mimicked him, bowing too. "Arigato~!"
The crocs seemed relieved and slowly drifted back toward the river.
"No need to thank me. I'll give you a proper send-off!"
Before it could escape, Allen dashed up and booted it flying.
"Me too!"
Morgan excitedly kicked the one that had carried her.
Both crocs soared through the air—experiencing flight for the first time in their lives.
Sploosh! Sploosh!
They landed dozens of meters away, splashing down hard.
"Grandpa, mine flew farther!" Morgan boasted proudly.
Allen wasn't even sure how strong Morgan's transformed form was.
All he could say was… she might just be able to go toe-to-toe with the Hulk.
"Allen, he's not gonna make it."
Namor had been checking T'Challa's vitals. The injuries were grave.
Not only were his organs damaged, but the prolonged immersion in water had nearly finished him.
"Relax. With a divine doctor like me, I forbid anyone to die young."
Allen crossed his arms and declared, "Shame Beam of Failure!"
A white light bathed T'Challa, healing his wounds.
His pale face—even a little desaturated—darkened back to normal.
Cough, cough…
Within a minute, T'Challa coughed up water and slowly regained consciousness.
"You guys…"
Recognizing them, he let out a weak sigh. "Oh… it's you."
"His brain's still waterlogged. Let him rest," Allen said.
Then he turned to Namor. "Go catch a fish—we're having a barbecue."
"I want grilled fish!" Morgan cheered.
"Go fetch some matches, Morgan."
"On it!"
Namor dove into the river. Morgan ran into the forest.
Allen flopped down beside T'Challa, grinning. "Hey, Black Kitty Captain, your throne's gone."
"Yeah… it's gone," T'Challa sighed, completely demoralized.
In truth, during the fight with Erik, he'd been holding back at first.
Knowing the past grudge between their fathers, he felt guilty.
But the more they fought, the more he realized just how strong Erik was.
Even with the Heart-Shaped Herb, T'Challa had been brutally defeated. He nearly died.
Erik hadn't killed him on the platform—maybe because he wanted him to witness the pain of losing loved ones.
After all, Erik had watched his own father die.
"By the way," Allen added casually, "he's planning to kill your mom and sister."
That got a reaction. T'Challa's eyes burned with rage.
He could accept death for himself—but not harm to his family.
But his hope quickly dimmed again.
"I can't beat him. If he takes the herb, I'll stand no chance," T'Challa said dejectedly.
"Real men don't rely on drugs," Allen scoffed. "Golden Leopard probably injected Super Soldier Serum."
"…"
Oof. That hit hard. He took the herb and still lost.
Then he realized—wait, that does explain why the power gap was so huge.
"So you're saying… if I inject the serum, I can take back the throne?" T'Challa asked, eyes lighting up.
"Nope," Allen replied seriously. "You'll just end up unable to lift your head when the drugs kick in."
"…What do you mean?"
Allen gave a devilish grin, eyes drifting downward.
Realizing the implication, T'Challa shivered and—for a brief moment—felt deep sympathy for Erik.
Was revenge really worth it… at such a cost?
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