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One Piece Breaking the Gene Lock
Genshin Impact: I am King Arthur
Naruto: Reviving the Fourth Hokage from the Start
"I am N'Jadaka! Son of Prince N'Jobu!"
"I found the Black Panther's claw marks on my father's chest. Your father wasn't a king—he was a murderer!"
Erik's roar cracked across the hall.
"Watch your tongue!"
The queen mother stepped forward, voice like a whip.
"The queen speaks truth… but so does he," W'Kabi, the minister of defense, said quietly.
The murmur died at once.
Just then—three figures appeared: Saitama, Shuri, and Agent Ross.
"Shuri—? And you—who is this man?" Spears snapped up toward Ross at once. The poor agent blanched, but his training barely held.
"Mr. Ross is our guest," Princess Shuri said, cutting the line of spears. She'd… forgotten to tell Saitama that Wakanda generally didn't welcome outsiders. Awkward.
"Your Majesty, this is a matter of the throne," W'Kabi said, cold-eyed. He raised a necklace strung with a special ring, and all attention shifted.
The royal-blood necklace—symbol of the right to challenge for the crown.
Silence fell. Tradition—older than any king—said that any Wakandan bearing this lineage token could contest the throne. Add to that the accusation that the previous king took his crown after killing a prince, and T'Challa's footing grew perilous.
"I claim the right of blood. As Black Panther and as a son of Wakanda, I challenge you," Erik said, staring T'Challa down.
W'Kabi's gaze was arctic. His stance was clear.
"Don't answer him, T'Challa," the queen mother said, stern.
"As Prince N'Jobu's son, he has that right," came another voice.
"Indeed—had N'Jobu not disappeared, the throne might have—"
"It's proper. Let it be done."
The hall fractured into camps. Blood, token, and the defense minister's backing—Erik's claim drew volume and weight.
"I accept," T'Challa said at last.
Per custom, the king's Black Panther power was stripped for the duel. The mantle had passed from the late king to T'Challa; now T'Challa's gifts were sealed away for the rite.
His opponent: Erik.
A killer through and through, cold-blooded, his chest studded with raised nodules—each carved for a life he'd taken.
The great tribes gathered: the queen mother, the minister, Princess Shuri, guests Saitama and Agent Ross, and more. The duel took place at the ancestral waterfall. Warriors and citizens howled like the oldest of tribes; the air itself felt carved from ritual.
Steel met steel. Two soldier-kings collided.
In the end, T'Challa's mercy was punished. Wounded grievously, he was hoisted high in Erik's arms at the very lip of the cataract—the abyss yawning below.
"No—!"
The queen mother's cry broke like glass.
Pain knotted Okoye's face.
The Black Panther—beaten?
Agent Ross stood shocked. That a civilization so advanced would choose such a brutal succession—he couldn't square it. Wakanda was a paradox: the highest science married to the oldest savagery.
"Hahahahaha! You lost, T'Challa! From this moment, I am king of Wakanda! Now—die!"
Erik hurled the broken king into the roaring void.
"Please—Lord Saitama, please! Save my brother!" Shuri sobbed, clutching Saitama's arm.
The nobles who'd backed T'Challa only sighed. This was tradition. Since the nation's founding, this was how it was done. However cruel Erik seemed, tradition bound them all.
Saitama sighed.
He vanished—and in the next blink stood at the cliff's edge, one hand plucking T'Challa from the fall as if from midair itself.
"You—?!"
Erik froze. The royals stared, stunned.
Then came the fury. Erik's eyes went blood-red. "Who do you think you are? This is Wakanda! This is our affair!"
W'Kabi's rage boiled over. The prize he'd finally maneuvered toward—slipping. "Seize him! Now! Okoye—will you defy orders?"
Faces tightened across the Dora. By law, they served the throne—loyal only to the king. To aid an outsider would be treason.
"You have no authority over us. The duel isn't finished," Okoye said, ice-calm.
Erik faltered. She was right. The match wasn't officially over; the challenger hadn't forced a concession or a death. As for a stranger interfering? Traditionally, these rites were sealed, without outside witnesses. No one had challenged the custom… until Saitama.
"S—sorry… I…"
T'Challa coughed in Saitama's grip. His abdomen was pierced; organs damaged. Even speaking brought knives of pain, and iron-willed as he was, a groan escaped.
Saitama's eyes were steady.
His "system" made the difference plain. On raw metrics, T'Challa was stronger. But Erik—his justice was negative, T'Challa's barely in the black. Bad men often feel stronger because hesitation never touches their hands.
That was enough for Saitama.
He didn't care who wore the crown. He rarely cared about rulers or thrones. But he wasn't stupid.
A king's anger can drown a world in corpses. A Wakandan king without restraint—paired with world-breaking science—could spark a war that would kill millions. A weapon in hand gives rise to murder.
So he moved.
"It's fine. I think you're the better king," he said mildly.
A slim blue vial appeared in his hand.
Gene-Modification Serum, TX-type.
Before T'Challa could speak, Saitama tipped the vial to his lips and poured.
(End of Chapter)
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