Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1050 (Second Update)

"I am pleased that you are here, and not as King of Latvia." The current King of Wakanda, T'Chaka, stood not far from the prince, holding a prepared speech. Unlike some African nations, the Wakandans did not wear traditional national costumes to the meeting, opting instead for black suits as business attire. The events that ultimately led to the Sokovia Accords were the deaths of Wakandans in Nigeria. King T'Chaka, as King, was given the opportunity to speak, while his royal guards remained at the entrance, unable to enter the meeting hall.

However, Salomon believes that T'Chaka's ability to stand on the podium is partly due to the fact that a small amount of vibranium, known to the outside world, is still stored in Wakanda. "I know you must be furious about Wakanda's breach of contract, but you also didn't tell Wakanda what you were going to do, which is very detrimental to Wakanda's international reputation after opening up to the outside world. You know this, Salomon. Although your cause is righteous, the means are also important. You now only have enemies, no friends, which is dangerous."

"In that case, let's say we're both at fault. But I must correct one mistake: my regent is searching for friends for me, and he has already found them." Salomon smiled. He understood T'Chaka's thoughts perfectly. This king had always harbored an inexplicable confidence in the West, which was the fundamental reason he sent Prince T'Challa to study at Oxford. Perhaps he believed that Wakanda's agents and army could defend the border, or perhaps Wakanda's technological advancement was so far ahead that it instilled blind optimism in someone who should have considered the worst-case scenario. If T'Challa were to make the decision, he likely wouldn't have chosen such an open policy. "However, I am still very grateful to the Wakanda biological laboratories for providing the vaccines. Currently, the Immortal City's vaccine production capacity cannot meet Latvinia's needs. There are also automated surgical machines and bio-prosthetic materials. Without these things, Latvinia's medical advancements could not have progressed so rapidly."

"I'm glad we can reach a mutual understanding." The King of Wakanda nodded with satisfaction, clearly pleased with Salomon's compliment. "I think we can discuss a new contract after this; Wakanda doesn't want to lose such a steadfast ally as the Immortal City."

“Me too,” Salomon said sincerely. “Latovina absolutely cannot accept the loss of Wakanda. Furthermore, I regret the attack; the Immortal City and Wakanda have always had a pleasant working relationship on the African continent. Several Immortal City staff members were seriously injured in the incident, and I am very grateful for the medical assistance provided by Wakanda.” After a few more platitudes, both sides parted satisfied. Salomon, holding a pen and paper he'd somehow acquired, intended to put on a show. He nodded to Natasha Romanoff and then went to see “his” photographer. Although this wasn't part of the plan, he still intended to continue the charade, since, with the help of illusions, his appearance was now identical to that of the unfortunate reporter. After the meeting concluded, T'Chaka took to the stage to give his opening remarks, and Salomon noticed that Natasha had been seated in the front row.

"When stolen Wakanda's vibranium was used to create terrible weapons, the people of Wakanda had to question whether our heritage was truly serving a just cause. A portion of the Wakanda's goodwill mission was killed in Nigeria; our nation has been silent for far too long. But we will not be defeated by misfortune; we will fight for the better world we aspire to join. We are incredibly proud to be able to contribute to peace, thanks to the Avengers for supporting our initiative."

T'Challa smiled broadly; he knew what his father was about to say. Wakanda had been silent for too long; it was time to show the world the real Wakanda.

Helmut Zemo donned a silicone mask that fit his face perfectly. Inside, tens of thousands of tiny metal wires mimicked the target's features according to a pre-programmed sequence, including cheekbone height and forehead width. Although the imitation wasn't perfect, he knew the resolution of the camera in the upper right corner wouldn't reveal much detail. Once ready, he covered the lower half of his face with his collar, put on his hat, and stepped out of the van—he'd parked it for too long, long enough that even the laziest security guard would have come to inquire; he had to leave as soon as possible. After Helmut Zemo had walked about a hundred meters, terrified screams and loud shouts came from behind him. The walkie-talkies worn by the security personnel scattered around the square crackled with indistinct voices, and some looked towards his location.

Before they could react, rapidly expanding flames shot skyward, tearing apart everything within the blast radius and engulfing the entire plaza. The violent shockwave and heat, like a stumbling, charging fire giant, caught up with him, and Helmut Zemo was thrown off balance by the sudden blast. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. In a fleeting glance, he saw the glass walls of the Vienna International Center shattered by the shockwave, the concrete structure blackened by soot, and shards of glass raining down on the granite slabs lifted by the explosion. He struggled to his feet, panting, feeling his lungs filled with smoke and the stench of scorched metal everywhere. His exposed skin was dry and aching from the raging flames and blinding flashes below.

He never expected that the explosives provided by the other party would be so powerful.

Natasha Romanov squeezed her eyes shut, curling up to protect her head from the shockwave and shards of glass. But the expected pain didn't come; she didn't smell any burning explosives, nor did she hear anyone else screaming. She immediately recalled everything she had experienced before the shockwave hit—she felt as if she were sinking into deep, dark water, the explosion happening only on the surface. When she opened her eyes, she knew what had happened: a huge, circular shield of orange-red sparks was disintegrating, leaving nothing behind it. She quickly turned to look at the other attendees. Like her, most had instinctively taken self-protective measures during the explosion, yet none of them were injured.

Only one person tragically perished: King T'Chaka of Wakanda. He was too close to the epicenter of the explosion.

Almost everyone stared wide-eyed, for a giant clad in golden armor stood between the podium and the audience, enveloped in the rising black smoke and the reflections of shards of glass on the ground. His crimson cloak billowed in the hot air below, as if hell itself were burning around him. Even so, the light emanating from him was dazzling, and the smoke could not obscure his strikingly handsome features. Many in the audience recognized him, or rather, recognized the magnificent power armor that only a giant could wear. Salomon had once given a speech in Hungary wearing this suit, and it had become one of his most recognizable trademarks.

The Wakandan King's Guard, who had just stormed in, instinctively raised their spears at him, for he was the most threatening target in the venue. But Salomon paid them no heed, for their vibranium spears could not pierce his armor, nor even the invisible shield. Simultaneously, a massive golden aircraft, spewing scorching gas, landed vertically near the International Center. Guards riding anti-gravity jet motorcycles sprang from the ramps and immediately clashed with armed security personnel outside the venue. Then, five combat robots, their numbers painted red on their iron-gray armor, were deployed around the International Center, controlling all vehicles attempting to enter or leave.

Several black and gold assault transport boats swooped down, passing over the floor where the meeting was being held. Sisters of the Sisterhood, clad in black and white powered armor, leaped from the aircraft and crashed into the venue using their jet thrusters. Without orders, they swiftly sealed off all access routes, forcing anyone attempting to escape back down, as the Sisters of the Sisterhood would actually fire bullets at those trying to flee, not just fire warning shots. All attendees heard was the deafening roar of engines and the heavy, beast-like approach of footsteps. Besides this, there were sporadic shots from outside, deafening roars like howitzer fire, and continuous explosions, but these sounds quickly subsided. These unidentified armed personnel swiftly took control of the venue and surrounding area, cutting off all communications. The Vienna International Center became an isolated island.

Fear gripped the entire venue.

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(End of this chapter)