The entrance to the Royal Square resembled a giant mouth, swallowing Ye Mo and Emma Frost whole.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the suffocating feeling of being under tight surveillance vanished instantly, replaced by an overwhelming wave of sound. The drumbeats were so dense, like a downpour pounding on a tin roof, making my chest tingle. The air was filled with a mixture of spices, sweat, and the acrid smell of some unknown metal burning. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but in this context, it represented power and glory.
Ye Mo adjusted his suit collar, his fingers gently stroking the specially made miniature listening device inside his sleeve—though it wasn't needed at the moment, it gave him peace of mind. He looked around; the viewing platform was fan-shaped, with layers of people surging like a tide. Ambassadors from various countries wore splendid formal attire, their faces bearing standardized smiles, but their eyes warily scanned their surroundings. The Wakanda Guard was deployed in every corner, their Obsidian armor reflecting a cold gleam in the sunlight, and the Vibranium fragments embedded in the muzzles of their guns exuded a chilling energy fluctuation even from dozens of meters away.
"Don't daydream." Emma Frost's voice came from behind her, as gentle as a breeze. She stood half a step behind Ye Mo, the hem of her deep blue dress rising and falling slightly with her breath. Her face wore an impeccable elegant smile, but her eyes were sharp as knives, quickly scanning every detail on the platform in front of her.
Ye Mo withdrew his gaze, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips, "I'm appreciating art. Look at this composition, this light and shadow—it's simply a masterpiece by a master photographer."
Emma Frost didn't reply, but simply tilted her head slightly and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Your Thermal Vision is too bright. Tone it down a bit, unless you want that old diplomat in the front row with binoculars to think you have cataracts."
Ye Mo's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately reduced the power of the thermal imaging mode. The world in his field of vision returned to normal colors from crimson, but the residual heat was still clearly visible. He quickly scanned the area and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming that he hadn't attracted attention.
At this moment, on the high platform in the center of the square, the ceremony was about to reach its climax.
The once noisy crowd began to quiet down. The drumbeats stopped abruptly, and the sudden silence was even more unsettling than the previous noise. Thousands of eyes turned to the top of the platform. There stood a figure, back to the crowd, his posture as upright as a pine tree.
T'Challa.
Ye Mo's gaze was fixed on that figure. Through his low-powered Thermal Vision, he saw that T'Challa was surrounded by a very faint glow, unlike the heat of ordinary living beings. It wasn't body temperature, but a highly condensed life energy. This energy fluctuation was very stable, not like it was being deliberately suppressed, but more like it was part of the body's instinct.
"This guy..." Ye Mo clicked his tongue inwardly, "His physical abilities are definitely beyond the realm of common sense. He's not Mutants, nor a superhuman, at least not the type we know."
Emma Frost's mental senses gently extended, sensing the emotions of those around her. She frowned slightly and whispered, "He's releasing pressure. Not fear, but authority. Everyone around him is subconsciously submitting; even the most arrogant diplomats dare not breathe loudly at this moment."
Ye Mo nodded, his gaze remaining fixed on T'Challa. He noticed T'Challa slowly turn around. His face was sharply defined, his eyes deep and resolute, carrying a calm composure born of experience. He didn't speak, simply standing there quietly, letting his gaze sweep across the audience. At that moment, the entire plaza seemed to freeze.
This is the aura of a king. No words are needed, no actions are needed; his mere existence is a form of dominance.
Ye Mo felt an inexplicable sense of oppression. This feeling didn't come from a threat of force, but from a deep-seated awe. He subconsciously clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. As a transmigrator, he had seen too many so-called "strong people" —Tony Stark's technology, Loki's magic, even Thanos's Infinity Stones —all had displayed terrifying power before him. But at this moment, facing T'Challa, Ye Mo felt for the first time a pure, awe-inspiring feeling that belonged to the limits of humanity.
"Are you ready?" Emma Frost asked.
Ye Mo took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil in his heart. "We can retreat at any time. But before that, I want to watch the show."
T'Challa his hand and made a simple gesture.
The next second, the surrounding attendants stepped back, making way for a clearing. T'Challa unfastened his traditional robe, letting it slip off. What was revealed was not a muscular body, but a black, tight-fitting battle suit.
The suit was made of an extremely special material, its surface flowing with a deep luster, as if it were composed of living metal. Under the sunlight, it took on an eerie dark blue hue, like the deepest seawater in the abyss. Ye Mo's Thermal Vision instantly captured astonishing data: the suit's energy reading was extremely high, and it was completely synchronized with T'Challa's vital signs. When T'Challa's heartbeat accelerated, the patterns on the suit would light up; when T'Challa was still, the suit was like a stagnant pool of water.
"Is this... woven from Vibranium fibers? Or some kind of unknown alloy?" Ye Mo quickly analyzed in his mind. He had a certain understanding of materials science, after all, he had spent some time with Tony, but this level of technology would definitely be among the top tier, even in Iron Man's armor arsenal.
T'Challa let out a deep growl.
The sound wasn't loud, but it contained an ancient and mysterious rhythm, like the low growl of an ancient beast, or the echo of wind passing through a canyon. With this roar, the black battle suit instantly expanded and deformed, finally transforming into a majestic Black Panther. A mask covered his face, revealing only a pair of eyes that gleamed with a cold light.
The entire audience erupted in uproar.
Some knelt in worship, some shouted, and some were moved to tears. Applause erupted like thunder, sweeping across the entire square. The people of Wakanda waved their arms wildly, their eyes filled with pride and fervor.
Ye Mo calmly recorded the process. His mind raced, assessing the potential threat posed by the equipment. If this suit fell into the wrong hands, and was combined with an ambitious individual like Ulysses Klaue, the consequences would be unimaginable. But at this moment, he was merely an observer, a ghost lurking among the crowd.
Emma Frost stood beside him, equally silent. Her mental perception was kept to a minimum to avoid being overwhelmed by T'Challa's powerful aura. She could sense that T'Challa was unaware of their presence. In this momentous occasion, everyone's attention was drawn to the new king, and no one would pay any attention to two ordinary visitors mingling among the outer delegations.
"It seems that Wakanda's future is much more secure than we imagined," Ye Mo said in a low voice, a hint of barely perceptible admiration in his tone.
"Behind stability often lies the deepest secret," Emma Frost replied, her gaze still sharp as she scanned the shadows below the platform. "Look over there."
Ye Mo followed her gaze. In the shadows on the side of the platform, several figures in black uniforms were busy at work. They held instruments, seemingly monitoring something. Although the specific equipment was unclear, their positions and movements clearly indicated that they were performing some kind of security or technical support work.
"That's the technical team," Ye Mo judged. "They're monitoring the suit's status and T'Challa's vital signs in real time. They'll intervene immediately if any problems arise."
"It's not just that." Emma Frost shook her head. "I sensed something was wrong. The technicians... they were so tense. What were they afraid of?"
Ye Mo's heart skipped a beat. He activated his Thermal Vision again to carefully observe the technicians. Sure enough, their body temperatures were abnormally high, and their backs were soaked with sweat. In the corner behind them, there were several sealed metal boxes. There were no markings on the boxes, but the heat they emitted was extremely stable, unlike ordinary cargo.
"Perhaps this is just part of the coronation ceremony," Ye Mo said, but he remained vigilant. "In any case, let's observe first. Now is not the time to make a move."
Emma Frost nodded and readjusted her posture. Her smile became even brighter, as if she were truly infected by the grand celebration. She picked up the wine glass handed to her by the waiter next to her, took a small sip, but her eyes remained fixed on the high platform.
Ye Mo also picked up a glass of wine, pretending to swirl it casually. His muscles were tense, ready to deal with any unexpected situation. The scenes he had just witnessed kept replaying in his mind: T'Challa's aura, the details of the Black Panther Suit, the abnormality of the technicians... Each piece of information was like a puzzle piece, gradually piecing together a complete outline.
The outline was far more complex than he had anticipated.
The cheers in the square reached their peak. T'Challa stood in the center of the platform, receiving the worship of the people. Sunlight shone on him, making his black battle suit gleam. At that moment, he was not only the King of Wakanda, but also the symbol of all hope in this land.
Watching this scene, Ye Mo felt a complex mix of emotions. As an outsider, he knew all too well the fragility of peace; as a participant, he couldn't help but feel awe at its power. But he knew he couldn't let himself be consumed by these feelings. The mission continued, and the crisis was far from over.
He glanced at Emma Frost beside him. Emma Frost was tilting her head slightly, listening to an elderly diplomat recount the history of Wakanda. She wore a polite smile, but her eyes were calm and collected.
The two didn't need to say a word; their tacit understanding was already ingrained in their very bones.
In the distance, an aircraft swept overhead, leaving a faint contrail before disappearing into the blue sky. The music in the square grew even more rousing, the drums beating again, the rhythm lively and enthusiastic.
Ye Mo's fingers tightened slightly around the wine glass. He noticed that some of the security personnel below the platform were beginning to relax; their attention was diverted by the celebratory atmosphere, and their weapons were hanging down.
This is the calm before the storm.
Ye Mo didn't move or speak. He simply stood there quietly, like a statue, blending into the sea of revelry. His gaze pierced through the gaps in the crowd, fixed on the direction of the high platform, waiting for the next moment to arrive.
Emma Frost also stopped what she was doing, her mental antennae extending slightly to monitor the emotional fluctuations of the surrounding guests. The air was filled with an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation, but also mixed with a subtle restlessness.
Ye Mo put down his wine glass, his fingertips lightly tapping the rim. Once, twice, three times. The rhythm was steady, the frequency fixed. This was a habitual action he took when he was thinking.
He knew that the real challenge was just beginning.
In the center of the square, T'Challa slowly raised his hands to greet the crowd. His movements were solemn and slow, each gesture full of ritual. The crowd erupted in even more enthusiastic cheers, the sound almost lifting the dome above.
Ye Mo squinted, peering through the lenses of his silver-rimmed glasses, trying to capture every subtle change in T'Challa's expression. He noticed a faint, elusive smile playing on the corners of the new king's lips.
What was hidden in that smile?
Is it confidence? Is it sarcasm? Or is it some kind of hidden calculation?
Ye Mo had no answer. But he knew he had to find it.
He stood up, straightened the hem of his suit jacket, and took a small step toward the platform. It was a small step, but it stood out conspicuously in the crowded throng.
Emma Frost reacted quickly and grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't be impulsive," she whispered, a hint of warning in her eyes.
Ye Mo stopped and glanced back at her. Their eyes met in mid-air, and they instantly reached a consensus.
Yes, now is not the time.
He stopped, sat back down, and resumed his relaxed demeanor. He raised his wine glass again, offering a perfunctory toast towards the high platform.
T'Challa seemed to notice the gaze. He turned his head slightly, his gaze passing over the crowd and landing precisely on Ye Mo.
In that instant, Ye Mo felt a chill creep up his spine. It wasn't killing intent, but rather a scrutinizing gaze. Like a cheetah spotting a potential threat in the grass, yet unsure if it was worth the effort.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
The cheers around him grew distant and indistinct; in Ye Mo's world, only that gaze piercing through the crowd remained.
He met T'Challa's gaze expressionlessly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
This is a silent standoff.
Whoever blinks first loses.
After a moment, T'Challa withdrew his gaze and continued to face the crowd. His expression returned to its usual solemnity, as if nothing had happened.
Ye Mo breathed a sigh of relief; his back was already soaked with cold sweat. He picked up his glass and drank it all in one gulp. The spicy liquid slid down his throat, bringing a burning sensation, but it also sobered him up a bit.
"It seems this new king is not to be trifled with," Ye Mo thought to himself.
Emma Frost put down her glass, her face pale, clearly exhausted from the mental struggle. But she quickly regained her composure and smiled at Ye Mo, saying, "What do we do next?"
Ye Mo looked down from the platform, where a large number of security personnel had already gathered. They were clearing the passageway, seemingly preparing to welcome the next important guest.
"Let's keep watching the show," Ye Mo said casually. "Now that we're here, we can't leave empty-handed. T'Challa's secret might be hidden in this suit."
Emma Frost nodded and readjusted her telepathic mode. Her gaze refocused on the platform, awaiting the next turning point.
The lights in the square gradually came on, and night fell. The celebration entered a new phase, filled with singing and dancing, and was exceptionally lively.
Ye Mo leaned back in his chair, seemingly relaxed, but his whole body was tense. The scene from earlier kept replaying in his mind, trying to find a flaw in it.
Suddenly, a slight tremor came from the ground.
It's so faint that it's impossible to detect unless you're completely focused.
Ye Mo suddenly opened his eyes and glanced at the ground. In the cracks of the stone pavement, he saw a very faint black powder slowly spreading.
Was that... poison? Or some kind of tracking agent?
Before he could react, Emma Frost's mental antennae suddenly trembled violently.
"Something's coming," she said softly, her voice tinged with seriousness.
Ye Mo didn't speak, but silently clenched his fists. His gaze swept past the crowd and toward the entrance to the square.
There, a dark figure was silently approaching.