Arrival

Watching a cargo ship of tens of thousands of tons dock neatly at the port, along with two of the navy's latest diesel-powered warships, Azazel scratched his head. Then he glanced back at the fully armed troops around them, directing dockworkers and sailors as they unloaded equipment and even heavy transport trucks. He couldn't help quietly asking James, "Dad, what exactly are we here to do? Are you going to war? How did you get the navy's warships involved?"

James glanced at the armored warships and replied matter-of-factly, "The navy's ships are built by the family's military-industrial division too, aren't they? I just requisitioned two to escort us. What, do you have a problem with going to war?"

Azazel nearly jumped with excitement. Struggling to keep his voice down, he said, "I love fighting! You're the best, Dad. You said you'd take me out for fun, and now look at this!"

He absently scratched the back of his hand. The cloth wrapped around his body itched, and Azazel couldn't stand the stuff.

James knew Azazel was passionate about fighting—even war. His Mutant Gene came with an innate streak of cunning and aggression. He loved creating chaos and relished the thrill of battle. No wonder his mutant ability was called Red Devil.

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. This isn't the kind of fight you're imagining. They're mainly here to transport some things, but you'll get a chance to fight."

Azazel nodded eagerly. Getting to fight was all that mattered. He had no qualms about fighting or even killing. James had already taken him along to personally kill a few utterly depraved criminals and perverts, so he'd seen blood.

The group was soon organized under Remus Pitt's direction. He was the "lead wolf" of his generation and captain of the Howlett Family's private, secret armed force, the Wolf Pack. This force, founded by Old Howlett, had been secretly passed down from one generation to the next.

Following the map on the scroll Daniel had brought back years ago, James headed from Kenya toward Uganda. Most of the local people along the way had never seen enormous trucks or so many strangely dressed outsiders. They shrieked and ran off, all the while watching the convoy pass with curiosity.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The group had ventured deep into the jungle. Kenya lay in the tropical monsoon zone, and even during a summer day the high was only around twenty-six or twenty-seven degrees Celsius, making it especially suitable for all kinds of life—mosquitoes in particular.

The palm-sized mosquitoes were driving Azazel crazy. He even tried using his teleportation to evade the relentless insects, only to find it didn't help much.

He watched enviously as James strolled along, completely unaffected. It was as if an invisible shield surrounded James, keeping every snake, insect, rat, and ant away.

"What are you looking at? Don't even think about learning this. You can barely manage the Evolution Technique. To learn this, you'd need to train in what Remus and the others study." James gave Remus Pitt a satisfied look as he cut a path ahead with his machete. His strokes were smooth and effortless, carrying a certain distinctive grace.

James had personally trained every member of the Wolf Pack, especially this generation, most of whom he'd been teaching since childhood. They all practiced the combat method James had named the Killing Technique. Remus was particularly gifted; before turning thirty, he was already close to reaching the third level.

The Evolution Technique was a training method James had developed specifically to help Mutants control and improve their mutant abilities. Like the Killing Technique, it also taught control over the body, but it didn't require tempering one's strength, making it much simpler.

Azazel's face fell. He regretted taking off the cloth he'd been wrapped in so early. It might at least have kept those damned mosquitoes off him.

James checked the map again, compared their position with Lake Valkana, and signaled for Remus and the others to stop.

"Set up camp here and prepare to receive the cargo. If anyone tries to attack or approach, shoot them on sight."

Remus immediately began organizing the troops. They had only a little over thirty armed men, but a large number of transport workers. Even now, he had no idea what they might be receiving.

James looked east again, apparently estimating the distance.

"Azazel, keep up." As soon as he spoke, James rushed into the dense forest. The air gave a faint crack, and his sudden burst of speed came close to breaking the sound barrier.

Azazel grinned excitedly, then vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Natulu was dozing, leaning against a tree and staring into space.

As a member of Wakanda's border patrol, daily patrols and guard duty were part of the routine. But the job was downright boring. The last time anyone had trespassed into Wakanda had been decades ago. They'd captured quite a few people then, and he'd heard a few escaped afterward. But nothing had happened in all the years since. The border patrol really did have the dullest job in the whole country.

He leaned against the tree and relaxed, still wondering when he might get a few scar tattoos on his face. Maybe then Riya of the River Valley Tribe would notice him.

Whoosh!

Natulu jolted. It seemed something had just flown past, but it was gone in an instant. He scratched his scalp in confusion, then worried that it might have been the king passing by—and wondered whether the king had seen him dozing on the job.

James burst out of the forest and abruptly stopped, bringing his body to a halt. Against all the laws of physics, he erased the enormous force of his momentum.

Azazel appeared beside him in a burst of black smoke and said helplessly, "Dad, why bother running all the way here? I could've brought you straight over."

"I wanted to see how far it was and what the area around here was like."

James looked around, then asked Azazel, "Can you make it from here to where Remus is?"

"Who do you take me for? I could go even farther."

"But not by yourself. You'll have to carry quite a few things in a bit." James rarely teased him like this. He looked around with interest at the broad, open land inside Wakanda. A patrol was not far ahead, wearing distinctive indigo Cloaks.

They spotted two figures in front of them and stopped in disbelief, exchanging a few words. At their leader's shout, they drew their curved blades and surrounded the pair.

When they got closer and saw what Azazel looked like, the patrol erupted into loud shouts and strange movements. They spoke an unfamiliar language and brandished oddly made curved blades and spears, roaring in anger.

Azazel glared at them ferociously. Though he couldn't understand what the Black natives were shouting, their expressions and emotions reminded him of his childhood. He slowly drew a pair of finely crafted, vicious-looking daggers from behind his waist and lowered into a fighting stance.

James also eyed the natives, who were shrieking and roaring like monkeys, with a headache. He knew some Hausa language, one of the three most common languages in Africa, but these Wakandans clearly spoke a language of their own.

Before long, the patrol sounded a horn, and more and more native warriors gathered around them. There were even cavalrymen and a group of spear-wielding women with shaved heads.

A dark figure raced toward them from afar, leaping over streams and boulders like a black panther pouncing at full speed. He launched himself six or seven meters into the air, vaulted over the crowd, and crashed down in front of James.