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The words people use are often more reflective of themselves than the person they direct them towards.
For example, what one considers weird or crazy is often something that they themselves find off. That is not necessarily the general consensus.
Then again, the general public's opinion changed depending on where you were.
Ergo, the concept of weird or strange was variable, and ultimately useless.
That said, that doesn't stop people from labeling you as such and treating you differently.
Now, whether that treatment was warranted or not, who could say?
He worshiped no God, and such a thought process already alienated him from the Akademiya. It was not as if he didn't believe they existed, so why the concern?
Yet what was Sumeru but the world built by Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, with the Akasha as her greatest gift.
It was by her power and benevolence that allowed them to gain insight, to become more than unthinking beasts.
Such fervent words of devotion are circulated by the people of Sumeru.
All of it feels hollow to him.
How can you believe so much in a God you have never seen or interacted with?
Can you truly claim to know her thoughts when she has died hundreds of years before your very birth?
Was it not blasphemous to assume that they, as mere mortals, could ever understand the machinations of a God?
And what of their current Archon? Her own existence was a myth, and save for the Sages, none knew her appearance.
If she was a God, the successor, why was she not revered?
For what purpose do they believe that Lesser Lord Kusanali does not deserve the recognition of being their archon?
For people who prided themselves on moving forward, they still refused to move on from a death that occured 500 years ago.
Hypocrisy at its finest.
Such complaints are not well received in the Akademiya.
He doesn't see why, they are natural responses. What scholar takes things as they are given, rather than delve deeper and attempt to make sense of the information provided?
A scholar questions, seeks answers, reveals the truth. Even if the truth is something that can shake the very foundations of their beliefs.
But what purpose was belief if they blindly followed without understanding?
To take each text as the truth, though accounts are often biased and sometimes even fabricated.
For people had their own views, their own way of seeing the world, and their words are no doubt colored by it all.
The distinction between fact and fiction lies in the understanding of objective truth.
The sky is green, such a statement would easily be understood as a falsehood, for one could see the sky and know its true color. But even the sky was not a single color, rather it shifted with the light, with the time of day, with the weather.
If one man claimed the sky he saw was purple, and the other claimed it was blue, neither would necessarily be lying about the sky's possible colors. Rather, it was important to note the time where they both claimed to witness the sky, and determine if the sky had been blue or purple.
Perhaps there could even be an occasion where the sky does indeed appear green.
But even by those accounts who were they to determine the true color of the sky? Rather, they could only list the common colors, as well as the uncommon colors and note down the shifts and what causes each.
In other words, the truth could not be gleaned so easily by one or two accounts. There needed to be a way to observe without bias.
Unfortunately, when it came to the Gods and their actions, there was nothing but bias.
It extended from the legends that surrounded both Greater Lord Rukkhadevata and The Scarlet King, to their reigns and eventual deaths.
Every piece of text, every stone obelisk or tablet was thoroughly scrutinized, however who was to say that the translations are accurate?
Rather, who is to say the translator didn't take some liberties with the text?
Just as a storyteller may embellish their tales, or a gambler might lie to gain funds, who is to say that the Akademiya does not encourage such fabrications?
Such words are no doubt treasonous, and he would sooner be beheaded for uttering them. So he keeps it to himself.
Still, it does not escape his notice how restrictive the Akademiya is. How the superiors have full control over what is deemed worthy of research, of existing and what is not.
How does one quantify the value of something if they do not attempt to understand what can be gained? Were they not unilaterally deciding on things they wished to promote and tear down things they did not agree with?
Was there a purpose in pursuing knowledge, if the world became dull and repetitive as a result?
For many, this revelation has them sever ties.
Unfortunately, such a thing does little to change that which they despise. Instead, they are merely turning away, complacent in the thought that they can do nothing to change it.
He imagines such comments would earn him the ire of many a graduate.
But he doesn't see any of them trying to fight back either, so his point still stands.
It may be hypocritical, being so disillusioned with the Akademiya while he works under them. However, he is not one to conflate morals with necessity.
A starving man who refuses a meal because of his own pride will perish. Even animals know when to compromise in order to ensure their survival.
He did not support the Akademiya, he merely worked for them.
Moreover, his work led them to trust him to some extent, enough that he had far more access to the Akasha database than others ever would.
Call him a manipulator, but he was not above engaging in a charade if it helped his cause.
But of course, he was a lunatic, and so his thoughts could not be understood by normal people.
For people operated too much on emotion. Weighing the pros and cons of something before deciding was too analytical, too inhuman.
Deciding between which rug to buy and whether or not to save someone dangling off a cliff were different situations, yes, but he shouldn't be blamed for considering both outcomes.
It was merely a hypothetical situation, and since no one was in any danger, he could take his time to think about it.
Pondering these scenarios ahead of time allowed him to decide on what he should do, thus if the situation ever occured, he would be able to act quickly and accordingly.
For an unexpected situation, time was often more limited, and as such, people were forced to act quickly as well as act upon their first thoughts.
It wasn't as if emotions shouldn't be taken into account, just that it should not lead to poor planning and execution. Our initial feelings are innate, wired into our biological programming, shaped by our experiences and morality.
Those feelings aren't to be completely ignored, it's just that an emotional mind does not often think rationally. Such emotions were a good guide to what you wished to do, but as to whether you should act on such things, it was a choice.
For many, they acted before they thought, and as a result, the situation could become worse with their intervention. Much like how leaping after a drowning person could lead to two deaths, while not intervening would, at most, only lead to one.
Yes, it was a harsh situation, but acting recklessly was not the correct answer.
Even those who have experience in such a rescue or know what to do would still run the risk of death. Too many were overconfident in their abilities, too many did not consider the consequences of their actions. It all eventually leads to a mistake, one that could end fatally.
The Sages were no different.
He is both suprised and unsurprised to learn of their plans. Their ire for Lesser Lord Kusanali is palpable, but to think they would replace her.
No, that they would believe themselves to be so powerful and knowledgeable to create their own God.
To have the audacity and ego to assume they could then control that God.
To believe that they were too cunning to be tricked by enemies of Sumeru, believing that they would reap all the rewards with none of the consequences.
Yet they called him the lunatic.
He imagines Cyno would read out a long list of their sins upon their capture. If so, he would help annotate it with their crimes, as well as list out each and every flagrant excuse of justification.
The Sages were not immune to the six sins of the Akademiya, and thus, should not be absolved of their punishment either.
This was how one overthrew a corrupt system.
Waiting, biding their time until the opportunity arose. There might only be a single strike, a single chance.
Latch your jaw against their throat and bite down. Mercy is for those who are misled and repentant.
The Sages were neither.
Perhaps he is a lunatic, for who would consider overthrowing their own nation's ruling power?
The rebuttal would simply be, what kind of government uses their people as resources to create a God?
What kind of government is willing to spread misinformation to manipulate the people against their own Archon and instigate the possible beginnings of a war?
Not one that he wished to follow and certainly not one he felt should remain in power.
Yes, the reasons are stacked up too high to ignore, and it was better that a young tree is felled before it becomes older and heavier. Before it has leeched all it could from the ground and leaves it desolate.The shockwaves from such a culling would be easier to recover from the sooner it occurs.
Does it benefit him? Certainly, he would likely be given opportunities for advancement, and such rewards are far greater than a pat on the back or the adoration of the people of Sumeru.
However, he deprived far more joy at the knowledge that the Sages involved would suffer from their actions.
They were willing to sacrifice the lives of many innocent people to further a hopeless goal, never stopping once to think of possible failure. As if they would be immune to such things.
They volunteered others to be their experimental group, when they should have tested their theories on themselves if they were so confident.
There was no basis for the belief that using these created Divine knowledge capsules would instill a love of Sumeru into their new God. It was nothing but a hope, a prayer.
Or perhaps it was a fanatical belief that they could not fail in their endeavours.
It would have been far easier to mold Lesser Lord Kusanali into what they wished of her. Feed her information and lies to further their agendas, for she already possessed a deep love for her people. With enough excuses, she might find their attempts to harvest dreams a worthy pursuit, and they would be free to be as corrupt as they wished.
They could have been granted leniency, if they had done so for the good of Sumeru, while never attempting to replace her. Perhaps she would dismiss it, as a mere folly of mortals that she could not understand.
That they might have been able to convince people to sacrifice themselves for the cause, conveniently circumventing the unethical nature of using the village keepers. Their Archon might have allowed it, as the people had made the choice for themselves.
There were many possibilities, many ways they could have avoided what was soon to come.
In short, they were fools.
Blinded by their arrogance and by an unjust anger, they would become their own undoing.
Moreover, they had involved him, and he was not one to leave his debts unpaid.
They had planned to use him and dispose of him, treating him as just another piece to be played.
A player who doesn't know the strength of pieces in their hand has no right to win the game. Rather, they were also nothing but pawns in another's game, played by a much more experienced and cunning man.
That they believed he would do as they wished because he was an obedient dog was insulting.
Even if they had desired to have him as their ally, he still would have refused. What did he have to gain from such an effort? Knowledge? Power?
None of that meant anything to him.
Why risk the peace of Sumeru, or even his own peaceful life in exchange for that?
If he had, he would be in their position. Constantly looking over their shoulders and around every corner for their comeuppance, yet also consumed by a fanatical belief that they would succeed.
They never considered what would happen afterwards, how it would all be maintained.
That the people may not accept such things.
He was not one to take risks if they outweighed the rewards.
Why should he risk his life for something he didn't even believe in?
So perhaps he was a lunatic, using rationale to explain every reason as to why he should assist in this scheme, yet also bringing his own desires into account.
In the end, it's hard to say which part of him tips the scales that have him betray the Akademiya.
Perhaps it's both.