Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1120 Teleportation Coordinates (Second Update)

"I'm so glad you could come to tomorrow's ceremony, my friend."

T'Challa met Emperor Latvinia in the brightly lit corridors of the palace. He was accompanied by Princess Surrey and the newly selected royal guard, who would witness his coronation the following day. However, their attention was drawn to the three-meter-tall, golden-armored guard following behind the Emperor, especially Surrey, who, having been excluded from the guard's plans from the beginning, was particularly curious about Hammurabi's powered armor and its modification methods.

"You absolutely must attend tonight's dinner." T'Challa was in a good mood, having finally gotten rid of a worry. "You've never had a Wakanda state dinner before, and I'm sure you'll be very satisfied tonight."

"I have no doubt about that," Emperor Latvinia said with a smile. To the Wakandas, he appeared impeccably tailored, a subtly yet striking eagle lapel pinned to the fabric—perfect attire for a state visit and important occasion. "I think tonight we can discuss further cooperation in space and Wakanda's open policy, provided, of course, that there's plenty of fine wine to enjoy. Princess Shuri, I believe you have considerable authority on this matter."

"When you need a space forge, yes, I have a say."

“I don’t understand these things, my friend. Seeing those numbers only gives me a headache.” T’Challa smiled and shook his head. “There’s another event at tonight’s dinner party that my mother doesn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know. Tonight, we will hold a public trial for the mastermind behind the Vienna bombing, to seek justice for my father, and to show all the tribes that I am worthy of the throne. It’s just a formality, and I don’t understand why others are taking it so seriously. The Black Panther Throne has always been passed down only within our family.”

"It seems you chose the wrong major at Oxford, T'Challa. You shouldn't have studied physics."

T'Challa shrugged, the pointed shoes making him uncomfortable. He knew a little about this old-fashioned style, but most of his memories were lost in the darkness. "I'll have some ice-cold beer delivered to your room. Don't miss the dinner." The soon-to-be king was about to leave when he stopped. He wanted to talk about striped shirts and pointed shoes, and his favorite rock music, but those gave way to a more important topic—a topic unrelated to him?

"What punishment do you think I should give that criminal—the death penalty or life imprisonment? He told me that my father's death was an accident, and his real intention was to impersonate Bucky Barnes to split the Avengers. I saw the consequences of his actions in the Arctic; Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have become mortal enemies. He did this because the Avengers killed his family, and now my father is dead because of his revenge, and he's willing to pay with his life. What should I do? Do you have any suggestions?"

"You're very nervous."

“Yes, I’m nervous.” T’Challa lowered his voice, keeping a distance from the new King’s Guard and trying not to let the women circling the Royal Guard hear him. “You’re right, bearing the lives of the people is no easy task. We’re not rulers who only care about money and power, which makes our burden even heavier. I’m already feeling a bit breathless. Although the priests at the Black Panther Temple won’t refuse to grant me the title, I’m still worried my legs will go weak when I walk to the throne. I think I need some courage. If possible… come find me at the arena. I need some dangerous sport, and of all the people I know, only you possess such skills.”

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"T'Challa's plane has landed at Bernizana Airport in Wakanda. Witnesses at the embassy have confirmed that Heinrich Zemo has been handed over to the Royal Guard and imprisoned at Fort Hahn. He was greeted by the Queen and Princess Shuri. Yes, he didn't commit suicide; witnesses didn't see any other injuries on him… Eric Kerman and his team have infiltrated the Wakanda border and are currently loitering in front of a holographic projection barrier in the forest surrounding the capital. Satellite surveillance and intelligence analysis of Eric Kerman's movements suggest he is likely searching for the entry route his father instructed him to take," Victoria Hand said. "The observers now have an accurate map, and I intend to get Eric Kerman the precise coordinates as soon as possible so he can join Ulysses Klaue's raiding party. The embassy has entered the Wakanda Royal Palace, and we will witness the most exciting moment of the battle for the throne. However, Constantine told me you are also attending T'Challa's coronation ceremony tonight?"

Victoria Hand flipped through the document in her hand concerning the deployment of the Hell Knights.

The air in the office was terrible; the ashtray on the desk was overflowing with cigarette butts, and nicotine patches were scattered among the documents. She didn't turn on the air filtration system or any other ventilation equipment, seemingly wanting the smoke particles to permeate every sheet of paper and every curtain. "So, should we deploy assassins for protection? I'm worried that one Imperial Guard isn't enough to ensure your safety. I hope you can allow us to arrange for a Sky Carrier to accompany you, not only as a deterrent, but also as a statement."

She frowned, clearly displeased that her monarch was entering what could become the stronghold of a hostile force. "I know the Royal Guard is powerful; I've seen their physical and combat statistics. But they are too few in number and lack heavy weaponry… I understand. I will send assassins to Hahnburg. I guarantee the Wakanda won't be able to find Heinrich Zemo afterward. I will contact the Infernal Knights outside the Wakanda border and provide them with your coordinates and details of your location. I believe they will teleport to you immediately. Alright, awaiting your orders…"

"Big shots won't listen to advice, huh?" Nick Fury raised an eyebrow. "How many times have you encountered this back when you worked at the Secret Service? Those political kids and their families are such a nuisance. How come you still haven't learned your lesson, V?"

"Don't call me that. The monarch's security is the responsibility of the Royal Guard. I was merely raising objections to the Royal Guard's security loopholes. I called you here to discuss the monarch's security arrangements. He can't leave all security to the Royal Guard. Do you think those genetically modified soldiers would check the guest rooms for listening devices, whether the wine cabinets have been poisoned, or even whether the pets they give away carry deadly viruses? Our agents are experienced; this part of the work must be done by us."

"We have the manpower and equipment, and we also have Isabel."

"But that's not professional enough! I'm warning you, don't mention that name again, it's all in the past!" The once-stern Level 8 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent snapped at her former superior. She disliked Nick Fury mentioning her past partner's name, especially since the relationship had ended because she had sent him a letter expressing her concerns about a terrorist attack, leading to her transfer to another post. Nick Fury nodded sullenly, raising his hands to indicate that he wouldn't be so tactless again and wouldn't poke at Victoria's sore spot lest she actually pull out a gun and shoot him.

“The agents under the Guardian Order are all soldiers; they haven’t received security training, and there’s no time in the real world for them to learn.” Victoria Hand tossed Nick Fury a document and a tablet. “This is the checkpoint we’ve identified for the monarch’s accommodations, based on information from the Guardian Order. It includes toxin checks, radio signal checks, air filtration checks, and central air conditioning checks. If your men have completed these tasks, I’d like to see the report; I need to know that the monarch’s safety is assured.”

"I'm curious what could possibly threaten someone as powerful as Thor." Nick Fury took the file with a grin. "You'll get what you want, V."

After the knock, Malcolm put his notebook away. "Come in."

The door slowly opened, and a communications soldier, his powered backpack equipped with enhanced communication components, entered. "Sir, there's a communication from Victoria Hand," the soldier said, holding a data tablet. A temporary information processing center had been set up, but the task of relaying messages was still handled by the communications soldier, not his adjutant. "Connect now?"

Malcolm nodded, and the communications officer handed him the data panel. Three minutes later, the communications officer waiting at the door was surprised to see the corps commander walk out of his room.

"I need to set a teleportation coordinate," he said calmly to the communications officer, his face as expressionless as granite. "Highest priority."

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(End of this chapter)