T'Challa slowly stirred from his dream.
Though it had been a dream, everything within it was real.
His father.
The Panther God, Bast.
And most importantly—
the power he had received from Bast.
That power would become his only hope of defeating Senju Haruto.
"Your Majesty."
The High Priest, Zuri, was the first to speak as T'Challa awoke, his voice firm and reverent, acknowledging him as king without hesitation.
"Your Majesty," Princess Shuri echoed, changing her address as well, relief flooding her heart that T'Challa had awakened at such a critical moment.
Just as she prepared to update him on Wakanda's situation, T'Challa lifted a hand, halting her words.
In the dream, Bast had already revealed to him everything happening in the waking world.
"I already know."
T'Challa rose from the ground as he spoke, taking a deep breath, steadying himself for the battle to come.
"Let's go."
At this point, he had no use for extra words.
Shuri, as sharp as she was, immediately caught on. From his demeanor and his certainty, she understood—he had been blessed with Bast's guidance.
Zuri, too, felt a swell of pride watching him now.
In his heart, he believed T'Challa to be Wakanda's chosen one.
Perhaps even its greatest king in history.
And yet—T'Challa did not march straight to the battlefield.
The dream had filled him with confidence. He now understood that his opponent was no demon, but a supreme sorcerer.
A master of white magic.
Confident enough in his own power that he had no need to strike preemptively.
Until T'Challa showed himself, Haruto would not advance.
Shuri followed close behind her brother, unwilling to stay behind. As Wakanda's princess, she had no intention of waiting passively while her people fought. She wanted to stand beside him, to help stop Haruto's invasion.
"No. You stay here. I need you to track Haruto's position for me."
T'Challa shook his head firmly, rejecting her.
For one thing, Bast's blessing could only seal Haruto for five minutes. That meant their duel could not be interrupted—no matter what.
It would be soldier against soldier.
King against king.
For another, Shuri was his sister, and Wakanda's heir. If anything were to happen to him, she would be the next Black Panther.
From every angle, he had to keep her safe.
But Shuri was not the kind to simply obey, least of all when it came to orders like this.
"This is an order, Shuri. Do you mean to defy your king?"
His voice was sharp, commanding, as he donned the vibranium suit he himself had engineered.
Crafted entirely from vibranium, it absorbed kinetic energy, shrugged off attacks, and enhanced his own strikes.
Thus, his first command as king was given: Shuri would hold the rear.
And with that, he turned and sprinted toward the front lines.
His legs carried him like the wind across the plains, every stride enhanced by Bast's blessing.
Now, he was far beyond human limits.
In only two or three minutes, he arrived at the heart of the battlefield.
The five tribes of Wakanda were already assembled.
Every warrior's face was set in grim determination. Each one knew what had happened to the late king, and each one had sworn vengeance.
But beyond vengeance, they also carried the weight of Wakanda's very survival.
When T'Challa appeared, all eyes turned to him, warriors bowing with the utmost respect.
By tradition, a new king was crowned only after standing at the waterfall, accepting the challenge of all five tribes, and defeating every contender until none remained.
But this was no time for ceremony. With Wakanda's very life on the line, such customs had no place.
Even so, as prepared as he was, T'Challa still felt tension coil in his chest when he thought of the enemy before him.
Sand soldiers conjured from magic.
That towering Susanoo.
Either alone was formidable. Together, they seemed unstoppable.
"Your Majesty."
Okoye and W'Kabi greeted him in unison. At the sight of their king, some of their fear eased.
"Mm."
T'Challa gave a brief nod, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Beyond Wakanda's shimmering energy barrier lay Haruto's army, fully armed and ready. Both sides stood on the razor's edge, moments from charging.
"I hope the barrier can hold," W'Kabi muttered, throat dry. He was proud of Wakanda's vibranium technology—proud enough to believe even if the shield couldn't hold completely, it would at least weaken the enemy.
But T'Challa knew better. Against conventional forces, yes, the barrier was invincible. Against Senju Haruto, however, it was little more than decoration.
If Wakanda was to win, they had to end this war by killing Haruto himself.
And there was something else T'Challa understood:
The moment he appeared on the battlefield, in sight of both armies—
that was when the war would begin.
Haruto had delayed his attack for one reason only.
He was waiting for him.
"T'Challa."
From behind his own lines, Senju Haruto watched through Byakugan, locking onto the battlefield with ease.
He could have ordered the assault long ago. But crushing Wakandan warriors without their king held no meaning for him.
"Well, I'll give him this—the actor who played him did well."
Gazing at T'Challa's face, Haruto's mind flickered elsewhere. He recalled the man who had embodied the Black Panther on screen, passing away in his forties from cancer. The actor had remained humble and private until the end. Black Panther had been both his peak and his farewell.
For that, Haruto felt no dislike toward the man himself.
But Marvel was Marvel, and reality was reality.
The two could never mix.
No actor's legacy would change his conquest of Wakanda.
As for the so-called invisible barrier—
to him, it was meaningless.
He raised his arm, twisting his fingers slightly.
A circle of flame appeared, linking the Wakandan battlefield directly to Orochimaru's prisoners, bypassing the shield altogether.
The warriors of Wakanda gasped as one.
Especially Okoye, who had once survived witnessing Haruto's terrifying power firsthand.
"Can we truly defeat this demon…?" she whispered.