This is the chapter for July 24th. I thought I already scheduled it for uploading, turn out still in the draft.
Chapter 107. Judgment!
"Maha Rukkhadevata is dead! Futsu Mitama, you are lying!"
Azar's voice rang out with unmistakable fury. He glared at Futsu Mitama as though he had uttered the greatest blasphemy imaginable.
The reactions of the surrounding Scholars were no different. Most of them looked at Futsu Mitama with equally hostile expressions.
After all—
Greater Lord Rukkhadevata was Sumeru's Archon. Her passing five hundred years ago was an accepted historical fact.
Yet despite her death—her influence throughout Sumeru remained immeasurable.
It was something Lesser Lord Kusanali could never compare to.
On the streets of Sumeru, if someone openly insulted Lesser Lord Kusanali—
At most, a handful of people would argue with them.
But if someone dared publicly insult Greater Lord Rukkhadevata—
The mercenaries of the Thirty—
The Matra—
Scholars hidden among the crowd—
Even ordinary citizens of Sumeru—
They would all step forward without hesitation and teach that person a painful lesson.
That was the difference between the two Archons. Because of this, nearly every Scholar present stared at Futsu Mitama with undisguised anger.
Even if he was the future Raiden Shogun—
That did not give him the right to fabricate such lies.
And if he insisted on lying—
Why drag the name of their most revered Archon into it?
"Lying?" Futsu Mitama smiled faintly. "Why would I lie? What would I possibly gain by deceiving you?"
He looked directly at Azar before slowly extending one hand.
"Everything I have said—Is the truth. If you still refuse to believe me—"
As he spoke, an emerald-green radiance blossomed within his palm. An indescribably pure Dendro aura gathered there, quietly condensing into a sphere of gentle light.
The surrounding Scholars immediately erupted into discussion.
"What is he doing?"
"The future Raiden Shogun can actually wield Dendro?"
"Isn't that normal? Futsu Mitama has already been acknowledged by the Raiden Shogun as her successor. Once she retires, he will inherit her title as the next Electro Archon."
"But even so, he actually claims Greater Lord Rukkhadevata personally entrusted him to come to Sumeru—"
"Keep your voice down. Lesser Lord Kusanali's position is still unclear, and the Great Sage insists on forcing the God Creation Project forward."
"No matter which Archon Futsu Mitama represents... it is still better than having an actual Archon descend personally."
"Sigh~ If Azar hadn't continued making one mistake after another, things would never have reached this point."
"No!!! You fools—That Dendro aura isn't normal!"
"What...?!"
"It contains the very breath of life!"
"That's right..."
"Could this... really belong to Greater Lord Rukkhadevata?!"
As the Scholars examined the emerald light more closely, many of their expressions changed dramatically.
Those who specialized in elemental studies widened their eyes in disbelief.
Even Azar himself froze.
His pupils contracted violently. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
"Azar..."
"This..."
"What is this...?"
The Sage standing beside him could no longer conceal his shock.
"No... No... This is impossible. This is absolutely impossible!"
Azar shook his head repeatedly. He refused to accept what he was seeing. His eyes remained fixed upon the emerald sphere suspended above Futsu Mitama's hand.
"It's fake! This must be fake!"
"Stubborn to the very end."
Futsu Mitama looked at Azar without the slightest change in expression. He offered no further explanation. Instead, he casually tossed the sphere of emerald light into the air.
The glowing orb floated upward.
Then—
Pop.
The sphere burst apart.
Countless specks of gentle emerald light drifted through the air like glowing pollen. Bathed in that warm radiance, the surrounding vegetation began to sway gently.
The scattered Dendro energy quietly merged into the nearby plants—and into everyone standing beneath it.
All around them, the plants stirred with sudden, unnatural vitality — vines that had withered days before now uncurled and deepened to green before the Scholars' eyes. It was not only the plants.
Elderly Scholars who had long carried the frailty of age in their bones felt strength returning to their limbs, as though years had been lifted from them in an instant.
Others, who bore minor wounds from the recent turmoil, watched in astonishment as their injuries simply ceased to exist.
Even among the Eremites — the thirty mercenaries stationed nearby, men who carried old scars and older aches from a lifetime of blade-work — there was a palpable, collective release, old injuries easing as if time itself had reversed its course upon them.
"A miracle... a miracle," murmured an old Scholar, his voice trembling, his whole body shaking as he beheld the scene unfolding before him.
"A miracle, but why?"
a younger Scholar exclaimed, disbelief written across his face as he reached upward, trying in vain to catch one of the drifting green motes of light that fell gently from the air like blossoms on the wind.
"This — this is Maha Rukkhadevata's miracle!"
a female Scholar breathed, hardly daring to voice the thought.
"But Futsu Mitama is the Raiden Shogun's Retainer... isn't he? Why would he wield the power of the God of Wisdom?"
"And yet Lord Rukkhadevata passed from this world before he was even born," another whispered, half to himself. "Could it be is he truly the God of Wisdom returned?"
These were Scholars of the Spantamad — the oldest and largest school within the Akademiya, founded by those who had once cultivated the Rainforest alongside Maha Rukkhadevata herself.
Green was their color, and their disciplines spanned biology, ecology, and medicine, fields born directly from the God of Wisdom's own teachings.
It was precisely this lineage, this inherited familiarity with her power, that allowed them to recognize her legacy the moment Futsu Mitama displayed it before them. Tighnari, too, belonged to the Spantamad — which was why he had been the first among them to acknowledge Futsu Mitama the instant he witnessed the display.
"Do you have anything else to say, Azar?"
Having revealed Maha Rukkhadevata's power so plainly, Futsu Mitama now turned his attention fully upon the Great Sage, genuinely curious what thoughts churned behind that proud, unyielding expression.
"You — you — you!!"
Azar's finger jabbed toward Futsu Mitama, his mouth opening and closing around words that refused to form.
Had he known — had he only known from the beginning that this man had come to Sumeru at Maha Rukkhadevata's own request — he would never have treated him with such open hostility.
The Electro Gnosis, the God Creation Project, all of it — none of it mattered, none of it had ever mattered, not when weighed against the presence of Maha Rukkhadevata herself.
For all his arrogance, Azar was, in his own way, a genuinely devoted Scholar — one who loved the Akademiya not for its prestige, but with something closer to reverence.
He longed, with an ache that had never truly faded, for the era five hundred years past, when the God of Wisdom still walked among them and the Scholars of the Akademiya could bring their doubts and questions directly before her.
Even now, in this moment of humiliation, that longing had not left him; if Maha Rukkhadevata could somehow be restored to them, he believed he would surrender everything he had built without hesitation.
He drew several deep breaths, forcing down the tremor in his chest, and when he looked again at Futsu Mitama, his voice had steadied into something almost pleading.
"Tell me — where is Lord Rukkhadevata? Sumeru needs her. We long to return to the embrace of the God of Wisdom!"
It was not merely his own question.
In that single demand, Azar had given voice to the unspoken yearning of every Scholar present — the desire, buried but never extinguished, to once again stand in the presence of the deity who had shaped their very way of thinking.
But Futsu Mitama only shook his head, slow and deliberate.
"No," he said. "No, you do not long to return to the embrace of the God of Wisdom."
His gaze swept across Azar and the gathered Scholars, and his voice, when he continued, carried the weight of quiet judgment.
"Because what your Akademiya has done has left her deeply troubled — troubled to the point where even she could not fully comprehend it."
"To be honest, even I, an outsider to this land, find it difficult to understand. How could the Akademiya — an institution that claims wisdom as its very foundation — act with such foolishness?"
The accusation landed like a slap. It was, in essence, a broadside against the whole of their identity — as though he had told a Mondstadter they knew nothing of freedom, or a Liyuean that they understood nothing of contracts, or an Inazuman that they had no grasp of eternity.
Whatever nation one hailed from, such words would never be easy to swallow, and the Scholars bristled visibly, several glaring daggers at the man who had just called their life's devotion into question.
Only Faruzan and Tighnari, who already understood the truth behind his words, lowered their heads and said nothing.
Before the murmurs could rise into open protest, Futsu Mitama pressed on.
"I will speak plainly. Maha Rukkhadevata entrusted me with a task — to find the Akademiya, and to find her successor, and to deliver her legacy into that successor's hands. Her successor is Lesser Lord Kusanali."
"By her own reckoning, five hundred years would be sufficient Time for her successor to mature fully — Time enough for Lesser Lord Kusanali to take up the responsibilities of the Dendro Archon. It was her wish that I pass this legacy on to her, so that she and the Akademiya together might face and resolve whatever crisis had befallen Sumeru in her absence."
"And yet, upon my arrival, the news that awaited me was nothing I could have anticipated."
"Lesser Lord Kusanali has been imprisoned for five hundred years. And rather than acknowledge Maha Rukkhadevata's chosen successor, the Akademiya instead chose to pursue the creation of an entirely new Archon."
A heavy silence fell across the gathering the moment the words left his mouth.
No one spoke — these Scholars, whose standing within Sumeru commanded such respect and authority, simply stared at Futsu Mitama, struck speechless, their faces slowly coloring with something close to shame.
Most of those present had taken no part in the God Creation Project itself, yet even they had, in their own quiet way, spent five hundred years disregarding Lesser Lord Kusanali entirely — because it was Maha Rukkhadevata they revered as the bringer of wisdom, not the successor who had inherited her legacy.
Now Futsu Mitama had told them that the very deity they worshipped had entrusted her legacy to them for the express purpose of aiding that successor and the Akademiya together in resolving Sumeru's present crisis.
And the Scholars, more than most, understood exactly what crisis he meant — the instability plaguing Irminsul, the disasters unfolding across both Desert and Rainforest.
These were the burdens that had driven so many capable Scholars out into the field rather than keeping them confined to academic pursuits within the Akademiya's halls.
Futsu Mitama's words now made clear something none of them had ever considered: that the benevolent Maha Rukkhadevata had, five centuries ago, already laid a contingency in place.
She had envisioned her successor and her Akademiya standing together, governing Sumeru in peaceful partnership. Within those five hundred years, Lesser Lord Kusanali would have grown, gained wisdom through experience, and matured into a deity worthy of her station — while the Akademiya, in turn, would have followed faithfully in that deity's footsteps.
That had been the vision.
But reality had unfolded in a far darker direction. The Sages of the Akademiya had not walked beside her successor — they had imprisoned her, and kept her imprisoned, for the full span of five hundred years.
Five hundred years. Such an immense stretch of Time to hold a deity captive.
"Hahahahahaha! Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Azar's laughter rang out, wild and edged with something close to madness, as he stared at Futsu Mitama with burning eyes.
"You're lying! You're trying to deceive us — using the sacred name of Maha Rukkhadevata to promote that worthless deity you claim to serve! How dare you!"
"Seize him! Seize him at once!"
It was clear that Azar had lost his composure entirely, his reason slipping from his grasp. He simply could not accept what stood before him — because to accept it would mean confessing that the Akademiya, the institution he had devoted his entire life to, had become nothing short of criminal. He, who had spent his years striving to walk in Maha Rukkhadevata's footsteps —
No. It was not merely him.
It had been the long-cherished dream of generations of Akademiya scholars before him — to receive wisdom directly from an omniscient, omnipotent deity. And in pursuit of that dream, they had dared to imprison one.
At first, perhaps, they could tell themselves it was done for her protection.
But as the years stretched on, successive Great Sages had come to regard Lesser Lord Kusanali with nothing but disdain, and beneath that disdain, fear — a fear too deep to permit her release, for they could not guess how she might act toward them once free. Deities, after all, were not things to be trifled with; even the weakest among them stood far beyond what mortals could hope to contend with.
And now, the truth Futsu Mitama had laid bare told Azar that everything the Akademiya had done across those five hundred years had run directly counter to Maha Rukkhadevata's own wishes.
Lesser Lord Kusanali was no fortunate inheritor who had merely stumbled into possession of the God of Wisdom's power — she was the legitimate successor, chosen and entrusted with that legacy from the very beginning.
Worse still, should this truth ever spread beyond this gathering, every Great Sage who had presided over the Akademiya across those five centuries would be dragged before Sumeru's judgment and flogged for their failure.
And he — Azar, who had championed the God Creation Project with his own voice, who had publicly denounced Lesser Lord Kusanali as a useless deity — would be remembered in infamy for generations to come.
How could a man as proud as Azar accept such a fate? He could not.
And yet, beneath the fury and denial, some part of him already understood — Futsu Mitama spoke the truth.
What reason, after all, would the man have to lie? What purpose would deception serve him here?
Had these words come from the Fatui, Azar might have found room for doubt.
But Futsu Mitama was no Fatui agent. As the one destined to become the next Raiden Shogun, his station and authority already surpassed Azar's own by a wide margin — he had no need to fabricate lies, and certainly no reason to travel all the way to Sumeru merely to help an imprisoned deity, confined within the Sanctuary of Surasthana, overthrow the very institution that held her captive.
For everything Azar felt in that moment, there could be only one answer.
He gave the order.
Yet the thirty mercenaries at his side did not move — they understood well enough that charging forward as a group would accomplish nothing against Futsu Mitama and those who stood with him.
Why risk their lives for a single month's wage, when the outcome was so plainly hopeless?
"How unbecoming, Azar."
A cold voice cut through the tension.
Many of the Scholars turned toward the sound, and their expressions shifted at once into something close to dread as they watched a lone young man approach from the distance.
He was brown-skinned, his hair a stark white, his eyes a deep, piercing red, and he wore a hood and cloak fashioned with jackal ears.
In each hand, he dragged along a Scholar, both men limp and thoroughly defeated, and as he reached the gathering, he flung the two of them down at Azar's feet without ceremony.
"The Mahamatra? Wasn't he missing?"
"Damn it — of all times for him to return, it had to be now?"
"No! in a sense, this may actually be fortunate."
"The Matra will begin to act, then."
Whispers rippled through the crowd of Scholars, while the Matra standing nearby exchanged looks of open astonishment — their leader had returned.
"In the name of the Archon," Cyno said, his eyes fixed on Azar with unyielding coldness, "your judgment is about to begin."
His voice did not rise, yet it carried through the silence like a blade drawn slow from its sheath.
"The crimes you have committed are not enough to be answered by a single death — not if you died a thousand Times over."