Warhammer Cultivation: Cultivating the Tao Te Ching in the 40K Universe

"Magnus. You have displayed your immense power, but you have also exposed your shallow wisdom. Return to Prospero and disband your think tank. Cease all your grand plans about psychic powers until you have learned the true meaning of 'commandments'. Go meditate, go contemplate... the virtue of 'silence'."

Then, his gaze turned to the space wolf.

"Ruth. You will continue to serve as the 'Overseer.' You have the power to 'execute' those legions and individuals who defy today's prohibitions and continue to abuse psionic powers. But remember, a beast that cannot distinguish between a loyal dog and a mad wolf is equally deadly to its own kind."

The Emperor's verdict, like the sharpest scalpel, drew a completely new and unexpected line between the demands of both sides.

"Parliament adjourned."

The emperor's figure slowly dissipated in the golden light.

After a brief silence, the entire venue erupted into a violent commotion. Magnus, consumed by humiliation and rage, transformed into a streak of red light and teleported away instantly. Ruth and Mortarian, though having achieved their goal of dismantling the think tank, wore expressions of bewilderment. They couldn't understand why the Emperor hadn't completely and categorically banned all psionic abilities.

Only Hector remained quietly standing in the center of the hall.

He knew he had not won. Magnus was still being publicly humiliated, and the seed of hatred had been sown.

He knew he had not failed. He had won a final chance to breathe for the Empire, for those rational psionicists, leaving behind a new path that would not lead to extinction.

He changed history.

But he also knew that the hexagram "Fire and Thunder Biting Through," that destined and tragic "biting off," had not truly disappeared. It had merely been postponed, or rather, it would arrive in a completely new way, in the future, on some unknown day.

The fire in Nicaea seemed to be temporarily suppressed by him using the "middle way" of clear spring water.

But he knew perfectly well that beneath those unseen ashes, the real flames had only just begun... burning silently.

Chapter 12 The Gaze of the Vast Will

Beyond the real universe, in the depths of that chaotic ocean—comprising pure emotions, thoughts, and possibilities, which mortals call "subspace"—lies ancient, vast, and incomprehensible consciousness. They are the embodiment of concepts, the concrete manifestation of the distorted laws of the universe.

At this moment, a consciousness known as the "Master of Change" and the "Architect of Fate"—Tzeentch—is admiring one of His most prized works from a perspective that transcends time: the tapestry of fate called "The Empire of Man," filled with countless changes and conspiracies.

This tapestry is woven from millions of silk threads. Each thread represents a soul, an event, or a choice.

War is fiery red, betrayal is dark purple, hope is fragile gold, and despair is deep black... These threads intertwine, entwine, break, and recombine, forming a magnificent, complex, and never-ending symphony of fate.

Tzeentch's "gaze" was focused with delight on the magnificent chapter about to unfold, named the "Horus Rebellion." He watched as the thread representing Magnus, which should have been a bright crimson, was stained a humiliating gray-black at the crucial "node" of Nicaia, before irreversibly and perfectly sliding towards the colorful area representing chaos, splendor, and endless change.

This is a script He had already set out, a poem He loved most, full of irony and tragedy.

Everything should be this way.

However, at the very point of Nicaea, just as the crimson thread was about to completely change color, a thread... unlike anything seen before, appeared out of thin air without warning and forcibly intervened in this perfect weaving.

It was a… “colorless” silk thread.

It is neither black nor white, nor any known color. It presents a strange "gray," as if it could absorb all light and meaning. It has no temperature, no emotion, no desire. Its texture does not belong to any material on the tapestry. It... is more like a vacuum, "absolutely still," stripped of all attributes.

This gray thread, gentle yet unwavering, coiled around Magnus's thread, which was on the verge of corruption. Its influence on Magnus's ultimate fate was minuscule, but it...delayed the process, leaving a small...unnatural, silent gray mark on the thread destined to be stained black.

This minute flaw, almost negligible on the entire tapestry, puzzled Tzeentch's dimensional "vision."

His will, like countless tentacles, instantly enveloped that point. He attempted to analyze, to understand, to define that gray thread. But He failed. The moment His tentacles touched that thread, they were absorbed and dissolved by its "empty" nature, yielding no useful information.

This is a "variable".

A completely new "variable" that is not part of His endless script.

A new idea, brimming with pleasure and curiosity, surfaced in Tzeentch's indescribable "mind." An uncertain element had appeared on His tapestry. This meant... there would be more, more interesting "changes."

His will, like a curious child, gently plucked the gray thread once more. As He attempted to "take" more, a faint, soft golden light emanated from the thread—the only thing on the tapestry of fate belonging to the "Human Empire" that He feared, another possible... "He".

He abandoned the risk of disturbing another vast will for this tiny variable and began to "observe" with great interest, wanting to see what kind of new and unexpected surprise this little "nameless person," this "silent voice" that did not sing the great ocean ballads, would bring to His already written drama.

As Hector Kane disappeared into the exit of the massive circular arena in Nicaea, he could clearly feel the complex gazes of the Primarchs behind him, like tangible probes, still fixed on him. There was confusion, contempt, scrutiny, and even… a deeply hidden trace of goodwill and curiosity originating from Sanguis.

He didn't look back.

Two silent Imperial Guards, like ghosts emerging from the shadows, reappeared beside him, escorting him onto the jet-black high-speed shuttle.

When he returned to Terra, to the simple room in the Imperial Palace belonging to Makado, filled with relics from the ancient Tai era, the Imperial Regent stood with his back to him, gazing out the window at the vast, never-ending construction site.

“You’ve succeeded, son.” Makado’s voice carried a hint of barely perceptible weariness. “You’ve preserved the flame of the concept of ‘think tank’ in a way I never imagined. Although, it may have to be renamed in the future.”

“I dare not call it a success, my lord.” Hector bowed slightly, his voice calm and even, as if he were not the one who had stirred up the monstrous waves at the eye of the storm in Nicaea. “I merely forcibly separated the two extremes that were about to collide by a little. But the attraction between them has not disappeared.”

“Well said.” Macardo slowly turned around, his eyes, which seemed to hold the wisdom of thousands of years, looking deeply into Hector’s eyes. “Magnus has been publicly humiliated, and his extraordinary pride has been replaced by resentment. He will abide by the judgment, but he will never accept it. The fire in his heart will only burn brighter until it completely consumes himself, or… something else.”

“And Ruth and Mortarion,” Macardo walked to the table and poured himself a glass of an unidentified liquid, “they got the ‘ban’ they wanted, but they were also bound by a shackle called the ‘Code.’ They won’t let it go. Especially Ruth, who now wields the power of the ‘Executioner,’ like a child who has just received a new toy and can’t wait to find a place to test its sharpness.”

Macardo took a sip of his liquid, then turned his gaze to Hector: "Do you see, boy? You haven't solved the problem. You've only turned an impending direct conflict into a more complex, more covert... shadow war. You've bought the Empire time. But time is also our greatest enemy."

Hector remained silent, knowing that Macardo was telling the truth.

“But in any case, the ‘third way’ you proposed is correct.” Macado’s tone finally carried a hint of approval. “It provides us with a completely new framework. A framework… that can reintegrate those dangerous, uncontrollable geniuses into the Imperial system. Now, this framework needs to be filled in.”

He pushed a blank data board in front of Hector, his movements slow and solemn, as if it were not a simple metal plate, but a foundation stone.

“I need you to compile a complete report on the core philosophy of the ‘Way of Silence,’ its theoretical foundation, and a set of general guidelines for cultivation that mortals can understand.” Macardo stared at Hector, his voice becoming extremely serious. “My child, you must understand the weight of this task. I don’t need you to write a perfect code of law immediately; that’s the work of mortals, requiring the Empire’s top jurists and administrators to spend decades, even centuries, arguing, compromising, and perfecting it.”

His request became both incredibly reasonable and incredibly... burdensome.

"What I need is... a soul. An unshakable, eternal soul that can serve as that future code of law. I need you to use your wisdom to draw up the blueprint for us and set the tone."

You must remember that I am not the only one reading this report; in the future, there will be Primarchs, the Commander of the Imperial Guard, and the Inquisitors.

Every word you utter will be weighed on the most rigorous scales, and every piece of your logic will be dissected by the sharpest mind. It must possess both the depth to impress even a sage like Magnus and the simplicity to be understood by a borderland youth who has just awakened his psychic powers.

It must be indestructible, because any ambiguity or contradiction could be exploited by enemies in the future, becoming a breeding ground for corruption throughout the system. As for the remaining dry, tedious legal provisions, I will leave that to my Executive Yuan. Your task is to ensure the absolute stability of this building's foundation.

Hector stared at the data panel, feeling a weight that transcended the material. He knew this was more than just a report; it might be the most important ideological foundation the Empire had laid since the "Imperial Truth."

This task was difficult, but... he had to complete it. The pressure in his heart was still heavy, but it was no longer that overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

“I understand, my lord,” Hector’s voice was firm. “I will present the essence of the ‘Way of Silence’ to you without reservation.”

“Very good.” Macado nodded, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “While you are completing this task, you will have access to any non-top secret Imperial archives. Your residence will be under the highest level of protection from the Imperial Guard. I have only one requirement—profound, and absolutely rigorous.”

Hector bowed, then, holding the data tablet that seemed to hold the future of a civilization, turned and left under the protection of the Imperial Guard.

Once again, only Makado remained in the room.

He slowly walked to the enormous lattice window, looking down at the massive palace rising from the ground below, a symbol of the pinnacle of human power. His gaze seemed to pierce through the countless layers of steel and rock, looking into the deeper wasteland of the human soul.

“Reason…” he murmured to himself, his voice carrying a weariness and sorrow that no one could understand, “We try to use the light of pure reason to dispel the darkness of the long night, but we forget… the brighter the light, the deeper the shadow it casts.”

“You are right, the truth of the Empire is necessary. But… it cannot fill everyone’s stomachs, nor can it soothe everyone’s souls. There are always gaps that the light of reason cannot illuminate. And those things… those ancient beings we call chaos, are best at growing from these gaps.”

He thought of Loka, the child lost in excessive piety. He thought of Magnus, the emperor's son on the verge of collapse due to overconfidence. Their tragedies, in a way, were the opposite of the coin of "Imperial Truth."

“We gave them the sharpest sword, but didn’t teach them how to wield it. We gave them the grandest goal, but didn’t tell them how to cope when they feel empty inside.”

Macardo's gaze returned to Newton's "Principia Mathematica" in the room.

“Now, this child… this ‘variable’… he brings a possibility. A possibility… that does not depend on gods, does not succumb to chaos, but seeks order and peace within. This may… be our only chance.”

He knew it was a high-stakes gamble. He was placing the future of the empire, the new hope against chaos, on the shoulders of a mysterious, ordinary boy of unknown origin. But he had no other choice.

Because he knew better than anyone else that on that tapestry of fate woven by Tzeentch, the threads left for humanity had already…

In the following months, Hector secluded himself completely, embarking on an unprecedented and monumental project to build a bridge between the intellectual oceans of two civilizations. This work proved infinitely more difficult than he had imagined. He was not merely “writing” or even “explaining”; he was undertaking a civilization-level “translation” and “reconstruction.”

He often recalled the enduring discussions about the Warhammer universe on online forums from his past life:

Some believe that the emperor is the only savior of mankind, and that His iron fist is a necessary sacrifice;

Some believe He was the root of all the tragedy, a failed father and a tyrant.

Behind these debates lies a core issue—in this dark universe of "only war," any idealistic philosophy originating from peacetime appears so pale and powerless.

He cannot simply translate the Tao Te Ching into High Gothic.

He must confront the cruelest reality of the universe: Khorne's wrath, Nurgle's decay, Tzeentch's schemes, and Slaanesh's lust—these are real, undeniable laws of the universe that can devour souls.

He must use Eastern wisdom to prescribe a truly effective remedy for the "illness" of this universe.

This work exhausted him completely. He felt as if he were trekking through an endless desert of logic and data, trying to find the only oasis that connects metaphysics and physical reality.

At first, he felt overwhelmed.

He realized that relying solely on Lin Chen's memories and Hector's experiences was far from sufficient. The underlying logics of the two civilizations were too different, like water and fire; forcibly fusing them would only lead to annihilation.

One night, when he was stuck in a bottleneck and his Dao heart was wavering, something miraculous happened. In his deep meditative state, he felt as if his consciousness was simultaneously connected to two vast "collective wills".

On one hand, there is the "Network Valhalla," which belongs to the previous life and was built by countless Warhammer enthusiasts.

The heated debates on the forums, the in-depth exploration of the backstory, the countless "what ifs..." deductions, the analysis of the psychology of each Primarch... this collective wisdom, forged from the love, passion, and regret of millions of players, was no longer chaotic information, but transformed into the purest "data stream," clearly presented in his mind, enhanced by True Essence and far surpassing that of ordinary people. He seemed to possess countless eyes, able to examine the tragic roots of this universe from every possible angle.

On the other hand, when he contemplates those ancient Chinese books, what he experiences is no longer just simple words.

He seemed to be able to touch the "soul" of a vast civilization, accumulated over five thousand years, behind those words. It was the resilience in the face of floods, the indomitable spirit in the face of powerful enemies, the indomitable spirit of "As heaven maintains vigor through movement, a gentleman should constantly strive for self-improvement," and the inclusive spirit of "The highest good is like water, which benefits all things without striving." This magnificent and profound will of civilization gave him the most solid philosophical foundation, preventing him from losing himself in the dark abyss of the Warhammer universe.

At that moment, Hector Kane finally understood his mission.

He is no longer a simple time traveler, an opportunist who stole knowledge of the future.

He is a "bridge," a unique "variable" chosen by a grand "possibility" from both worlds. His mission is to truly, systematically, and indestructibly plant the seed of "Tao," a spark from a distant land, in this dark universe destined to be swallowed by war and betrayal.

He deepened the core of the Tao Te Ching from the simple concept of "governing by non-action" into the theory of "spiritual entropy reduction" to combat subspace chaos.

He elaborated on the inherent nature of all things in the universe to return to chaos (increased entropy), and the active minds of psionicists are the catalysts that accelerate this process. Therefore, "quietness" is not a passive escapism, but an active behavior that maintains the order of one's own spiritual world and resists the ultimate heat death of the universe. He named it "the bubble of discipline," a state of "phantom stealth" that minimizes one's "presence" in the warp, thereby avoiding demonic encroachment.

He combined the theories of the Yellow Emperor's Inner Classic with the fragmented reports he could access about the Space Marine Geneseed, and boldly proposed the "Psionic and Physical Meridian-Singularity Symbiotic Model".

He likened the body's meridians to a network of bio-energy transmission, while the organs where gene seeds are implanted are the "singularities" that stabilize and amplify these networks. He proposed a "physiological model" that uses specific breathing techniques and meditation postures (visualization) to actively strengthen this network, thereby enhancing the body's capacity to bear bio-energy, slowing down gene seed decay and rejection reactions, hoping to fundamentally solve the problem of "flesh and blood mutation" in the child of a thousand wounds.

He combined the variability of the I Ching with the rigor of Legalism and the logic of Mohism, transforming it from a vague form of "divination" into a strategic analysis tool called "Causal Chain Deduction and Variable Game Theory".

This is not a "prophecy," because the future has infinite possibilities. Rather, it is a rigorous logical tool for probabilistic analysis of the flow of "collective unconsciousness" by observing the biggest variable, "human nature." He even cited the concept of "thought imprint" on the internet in his previous life to discuss how to actively create or avoid certain "high-probability futures" by guiding collective emotions, thus providing the empire with a brand-new "strategic depth" to deal with the corruption of chaotic thought.

He poured all his heart and soul, all his wisdom, all his struggles and thoughts from his two lifetimes into this report. He knew that this might be the most precious legacy he could leave for this dark universe.

When he presented this weighty report, which embodied the wisdom of his two lifetimes, to Macardo, the imperial regent, for the first time ever, locked himself in his room for a whole week.

During that week, the upper echelons of the Imperial Palace felt something strange, as if the tireless ruler of the seal had, for the first time, withdrawn himself from the countless gears of the vast machine of the Empire.

The Imperial Guards stood watch over the door, sensing that what emanated from behind it was no longer the cold, efficient psionic energy fluctuations of those used for handling government affairs, but rather... a more ancient, more profound, vast range of thoughts, as if conversing with the truth of the entire universe.

A week later, when Macardo reappeared before Hector, he looked even older, the weariness in his eyes almost tangible, but deep within those eyes burned an unprecedented, intense light, as fiery as a star at the dawn of creation.

It was a complex look in one's eyes, a mixture of awe, ecstasy, and deep reverence, that one had found after witnessing the rise and fall of countless civilizations and seeing through the limits of thousands of philosophies.

He didn't speak immediately, but instead, with eyes that seemed to see through the river of time, he scrutinized the boy before him for a long time. He no longer saw a useful tool, an interesting variable, but someone... an equal, someone worthy of his highest respect... a "preacher."

“…Perfect.” In the end, Makado uttered only these two words. His voice was hoarse, yet heavy as a thousand pounds, as if each syllable carried all his hopes and burdens for humanity's future accumulated over thousands of years. “I once thought we were forging an indestructible ‘shell’ for humanity with steel and genes. But now I understand that we have always overlooked the most important thing. And you, child, what you have brought us is that long-lost ‘soul’.”

He gently placed the data tablet back on the table, as if it were the most fragile, sacred object that could be broken at the slightest touch.

“With this ‘soul,’ I can forge a truly living, complete ‘shell’ for the Empire. Hector Kane, your contributions to the Empire far exceed your own imagination. History will remember you, even if… in a way it doesn’t even know it.”

He paused, a weary smile appearing on his face: "I will keep this report myself. As for you, my friend, before your young shoulders collapse from bearing too much burden, it's time for you to take on some... lighter tasks."

"Your theoretical framework has been established, but it needs to be tested in practice. You need to meet my Primarchs, who have different personalities, and see what kind of different chemical reactions your 'Tao' will produce on them."

Macardo pulled up another star map. At the center of the star map was a planet called "Kolchis" and the star field surrounding it.

“Your next mission,” Macado said, pointing to the star map, his voice becoming low and meaningful, “is to go to the Seventeenth Legion, the ‘Word Bearers’.”

Hector's heart skipped a beat.

Makado's gaze seemed to pierce through time, fixed on him, as he slowly uttered that name that sounded like a curse.

"Go see their Primarch..."

"Loga Aurelion".

Chapter 13 The Legion of the Word Bearers

When the name "Logar Aurelion" was uttered from the ancient, emotionless mouth of the Imperial Regent, Hector Kane felt a chill, almost freezing his mind, rise in his heart, which had remained undisturbed even in the Nicaea Tribunal.

The Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, the Word Bearers. The one who, because of his excessive piety, was publicly humiliated by his father, thus embarking on a path to seek the gods, ultimately embracing the primordial chaos, and personally feeding poison to the entire Empire… the first traitor.

If Magnus's tragedy stemmed from his insatiable thirst for knowledge and tragic pride, then Loka's downfall stemmed from a more fundamental and unsolvable paradox—when a mortal tries to understand the truth of a "god," what does he receive: enlightenment or...destruction?

Trying to persuade Magnus was like trying to pull a runaway, high-speed chariot back onto the right track. Though difficult, at least the chariot itself was eager to move forward.

To persuade Loka... is like telling a believer who has just fallen from heaven to hell that everything he believed in was a meticulously planned deception from the very beginning. This is not just persuasion; it is almost... cruel.

His heart is now 'empty'.

Makado's words echoed in Hector's mind. He knew the Marker was right. But precisely because it was "empty," anything could potentially fill it. And he, Hector, would take his profound "way of silence," filled with "introspection" and "self-reflection," to wage a silent war for "faith" against the true "false god" who had long been coveting Loka's empty heart deep within the warp.

This was a war between him and them, a war far more perilous than that against Nicaea.