The Sinful Life of The Emperor

Chapter 774: Treatment

Tempest's beautiful brow remained furrowed, her emerald eyes locked on Penelope.

The Siren tribe, nestled within the heart of Eden, were known for a multitude of abilities, not just enchanting voices and the power of sound.

If one of them had Foresight, the ability to glimpse into the future... then the possibility of it being true hung heavy in the air!

A weight even heavier than the storm clouds above.

"But what is The Feminist?" she pressed, her voice a mix of frustration and a flicker of dawning curiosity.

Penelope, her own features etched with a mixture of hope and disbelief, recited the cryptic lines of the prophecy.

"Men..."

She began, her voice gaining a touch of theatricality, as one would recount a forgotten legend.

"Are by inherent nature useless, only capable of exploiting women, giving them pain. But The Feminist," she declared, her voice ringing with a newfound passion, "will be a man unlike any other!

He will break the cycle of exploitation created by generations of men, and bring such happiness to women that their expressions will twist, their voices will turn into groans, their breaths will turn shallow, their faces flush while their nerves will jolt with currents!"

Tempest stood agape, trying to visualize this prophesied happiness.

Were these women supposed to melt into quivering puddles of bliss?!

Was that the ultimate goal?!

Her warrior's instincts screamed that such a state would leave them vulnerable, easy prey.

"What type of happiness will turn the women weak?!" she interjected, bewildered.

Sensing her confusion, Penelope sighed.

"You know how prophecies are, Tempest," she said, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice.

"Cryptic, mysterious... and frankly impossible for a normal person to understand."

A mysterious glint flickered in her eyes as she continued.

The weight of his words crashed upon them, shattering the last vestiges of their past beliefs.

This "demon," this "destroyer," had chosen self-inflicted torment over harming them, even as they attacked him in their ignorance.

Shame, a searing brand, began to burn across their hearts."

Prepare treatment for him, immediately!" Penelope shouted, her voice heavy with a mixture of urgency and remorse.

Her tribe, initially hesitant, scrambled into action. Men deserved hellfire, but not this one! They wouldn't let him die on their soil.

With a shared sense of urgency, Penelope and Tempest carried Kiba's unconscious form to a hidden chamber within the plateau.

Carved into the very heart of the rock, the room was a haven of natural wonders. Strange herbs and exotic incense burned, filling the air with a sweetly pungent aroma.

A woman in her mid-thirties with sharp green eyes and emerald braids interwoven with vines materialized in front of them. This was Circe, the tribe's esteemed healer and a master herbalist.

"A man!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and horror.

Penelope and Tempest quickly explained the events, excluding the prophecy as it was neither relevant nor important.

Circe, though surprised, reluctantly acknowledged their story. But a frown creased her brow.

"While I can heal most wounds," she admitted, "I'm not familiar with the male anatomy. My knowledge might be... lacking."

Tempest, her own earlier prejudice dissolving, roared, "You have to save him!"

Her tone held a desperate urgency, the well-being of this supposed male suddenly outweighing her ingrained hatred.

Circe blinked, surprised by the raw emotion in Tempest's voice. But instead of taking offense, she found herself strangely touched.

"Very well," she declared, her voice firm. "Let's clean his wounds first."

Penelope, ignoring the initial protests of the other Dryads, stepped forward.

As their leader, she would be the one to oversee his care. She couldn't let them risk their health, especially for a man who was, as she kept reminding herself, not a demon, but a saint, a man beyond men!

The treatment started in earnest...