Rampaging through American comics, people in my motherland don't eat beef.

Kingpin and his men waited on the outskirts of the city. Their main task was to clean up the mess. Homelander had a unique perspective on the negotiations, so he went to the palace alone.

Regarding that previously committed act that lacked humanity, righteous superheroes might hurl insults, but as for them? They might sigh with a touch of sympathy, while those without sympathy wouldn't even blink.

To put it bluntly, even if the Wakandas are rich, powerful, and possess vibranium, they cannot escape their indigenous African heritage.

As we all know, superheroes take it upon themselves to protect world peace, but the world is actually very small, and basically only parts of Europe and America deserve protection.

Moreover, the Wakandans are not entirely innocent. They possess vibranium but lack the corresponding ability to protect themselves. As the saying goes, "possessing a treasure invites trouble," and it was only a matter of time before they suffered this calamity.

Children talk about justice; adults only talk about interests.

"How can a king act so impulsively? You are still not mature enough. Pass the throne to your son." Gray casually snapped Tchaka's neck, and with a "crack," the incompetent king passed away.

Even though he was wearing the Black Panther suit passed down through generations, he couldn't escape being instantly killed.

Undeniably, vibranium possesses indestructible properties and can absorb energy and cushion kinetic energy. However, clothing is not a shield, and the neck is a vulnerable point. Faced with pressure exceeding 5 tons, even vibranium protection would be ineffective.

"No!!"

T'Challa let out a heart-wrenching scream, and in just two breaths, his father and mother both died before his eyes.

A hatred so intense it was almost tangible instantly filled the young black panther's mind and body; his eyes were bloodshot as he stared intently at Gray.

"Sound the alarm, kill the intruders, and avenge the king!"

The surrounding soldiers witnessed this scene and were both shocked and furious. Without hesitation, they rushed forward.

But in the next second, all movement came to an abrupt halt. The soldiers remained in a forward-leaning posture, with a line of blood spurting from their necks as their heads fell straight to the ground, where crimson blood quickly spread.

With just a glance from Gray, the hall was instantly littered with corpses, resembling a living hell.

"Listen to me, T'Challa." He stretched out a hand, trying to soothe the young man who was blinded by hatred.

"You demon, die!"

T'Challa was consumed by thoughts of revenge and charged toward Gray without thinking. However, as soon as he got close, Gray easily grabbed his throat with his outstretched hand.

"Seeing you makes me suddenly miss my new employee, Harry. If everyone were as smart as him, the world would be at peace long ago," Gray said with a touch of melancholy.

Right now, T'Challa, whom he was holding in his hand, was on the verge of fainting.

Dizziness, suffocation, and a gradual loss of consciousness followed, but his inherent resilience allowed him to withstand the discomfort caused by the lack of oxygen to his brain.

With all his might, T'Challa lifted his thigh and launched his knee like a cannonball toward Gray's vitals, attempting to break free from his control.

"To be honest, I don't really want to hurt you. I wish you had a younger brother or older brother. They would definitely be more sensible than you." Since the attack was aimed at his testicles, Gray had no choice but to block in the same way.

"Click!"

A crisp yet chilling sound of bones breaking suddenly rang out, sending shivers down one's spine.

"Ugh..."

T'Challa's eyes widened instantly, revealing extreme pain.

His knee was shattered in the violent impact, and his lower leg seemed to have lost all support, swaying helplessly.

However, the hand on his neck showed no sign of loosening, making it difficult for him to even let out a painful scream.

"Is that little girl over there your sister?"

Gray gradually lost his patience, turned his head slightly, and looked at the little girl who was squatting in the corner with tears streaming down her face.

The girls were no older than eight years old, and their pitiful appearance was quite cute.

If Black Panther doesn't cooperate, why not let his sister inherit the throne? This thought flashed through Gray's mind.

"Spare me...spare me..."

T'Challa caught this scene out of the corner of his eye, and his whole body trembled violently. The raging flames of revenge that had been burning brightly were instantly extinguished by a bucket of cold water, leaving him feeling ice-cold all over.

"Are you willing to talk properly now?" Seeing this, Gray released his grip, took two steps back, and gestured for Black Panther to continue.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

T'Challa pounded the ground frantically, each blow filled with boundless rage and resentment, until his fists were covered in blood and the flesh was torn open. Only then did he kneel at Gray's feet, panting, and plead, "Don't hurt Shuri, she's just a child... please..."

"You're overthinking it, really. I'm not some kind of psychopathic killer." Gray gave a seemingly gentle smile and said earnestly, "T'Challa, do you understand now? The only consequence of resisting me is death. If you don't want Wakanda to be reduced to ruins and its five million people to perish, you should cooperate with me with all your might, instead of just being impotently furious like this, or saying that death is impossible. Actually, anything is possible, right?"

"Yes, I am willing to obey your orders..."

Even though he was unwilling, T'Challa had no choice but to lower his proud head and, filled with humiliation, grovel at Gray's feet.

"It would have been so much better if you had agreed sooner. Instead, you had to go through all this trouble. In the end, it's like our parents died for nothing." Gray shook his head and sighed. His words were infuriating.

"Giggle giggle."

T'Challa's forehead slammed heavily against the ground, every inch of his skin trembling, and a cracking sound came from his clenched teeth.

But there's nothing we can do; this is the tragedy of the weak. Faced with the oppression of the strong, they have no choice but to obey.

"I know it's not easy to get you to move out of Wakanda, after all, it involves several million people. Here's what we'll do: I'll give you three months to move slowly, no rush."

"T'Challa, I'm not the kind of heartless villain, so please be understanding. Three days, clear the city out of people. I have an urgent need." Gray wasn't actually in a rush; he was mainly worried that Magneto wouldn't be able to hold out and would attract hatred.

"Three days?"

T'Challa abruptly raised his head, instinctively wanting to argue that this was utterly absurd.

How is it possible for a megacity with a million residents to complete the evacuation in just three days?

Moreover, what explanation can be given to the public? If not handled properly, the city will inevitably descend into chaos. At that point, forget about relocation, even suppressing the public's doubts will be a problem.

But these words of rebuttal swirled in his throat a few times before he swallowed them down hard.

T'Challa clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. After a moment of silence, he nodded with difficulty: "I will do my best."

Gray nodded in satisfaction: "That's right. Face reality and don't try to resist forces you can't resist. That's just asking for trouble. You won't change anything, and you'll only sink deeper into pain."

He paused, then reached out and patted T'Challa on the shoulder: "Obedience is different. If I'm in a good mood, I might take pity on you and send you some unwanted land to rebuild your homes."

"I know you hate me to the core, but it's okay, T'Challa, I'm willing to forgive you!" After saying that, Gray's nose tingled, and he quickly looked up, afraid that he would shed tears of self-pity.

If you were to say that you would spare your enemy from being killed, you would definitely be called a saint.

Gray sighed softly, deciding to bear it silently. After all, he was half a hero and couldn't betray the name of a hero.