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

But at the same time, within that sacred crimson pillar of light, there was an even more violent, chaotic, and destructive dark crimson force, like a maggot clinging to the bone, frantically entangled and tore at it!

Two completely different forces, yet sharing the same origin, are waging a never-ending war!

Chapter 214 The Sha of Baal (Bonus Chapter 3)

With a slight, almost imperceptible tremor, the hull of the Seeker seemed to pierce through an invisible membrane.

Outside the porthole, the subspace ocean, composed of pure, boiling, and frenzied emotions, was instantly replaced by a cold, lifeless darkness filled with the laws of physics.

They have arrived.

“Lord Dao,” Lucian’s voice came through the communicator, carrying a sense of relief and calm, “we have successfully arrived in the Barr system. The course is on track, and the ship is in perfect condition.”

His tone was full of confidence. This successful subspace voyage, far exceeding the normal speed, was his first perfect practice as a "Tao Eye" navigator, and it also proved the superiority of "Tao" in this chaotic sea.

Hector slowly rose and walked to the huge porthole.

Behind him, the core members of the delegation also turned their gazes to this unfamiliar starry sky.

What comes into view is a picture full of desolation and magnificence.

A massive star, emitting unstable light and heat, like an aging giant, draped the entire galaxy in a dim, yellowish veil of light.

At the center of the galaxy, a planet floats silently.

Its surface is an ominous dark red, the kind that would only form after millions of years of intense radiation. Huge, scar-like dried riverbeds and canyons crisscross, like claw marks left by giant beasts from mythical times.

Beside this primary star, orbiting its twin moons, Bar Primus and Bar Sekendes, are a similar size to the primary star. Their surfaces are also desolate, red deserts covered in radioactive dust.

There is no sign of life here.

There was no green accent whatsoever.

Only an endless, silent, red earth, as if it had died a thousand times over...

"Such a heavy... 'evil aura'."

Looking at the scene before him, Daowei leader Barrow subconsciously gripped the Yin-Yang Sword at his waist and said in a low voice.

He had fought in countless wasteland worlds, but no place could make him feel such a deep-seated sense of oppression and unease, just by looking at it from afar, as Baal did.

Every inch of this land seems to be silently telling a story of "destruction" and "struggle".

"It's not just malevolent energy."

Hector's gaze pierced through the surface of matter, looking directly into the deeper "destiny" of this galaxy.

In his "Aura Observation Technique," the entire Bar Star System was shrouded in a massive, almost solidified, crimson aura.

That aura was sacred, noble, and filled with the glorious light of sacrifice and protection.

But at the very root of this radiance, a deeper, more violent, dark aura, filled with destructive and bloodthirsty desires, is also brewing.

Both originate from the same source, yet they tear each other apart and fight against each other.

Just like a great god entangled by his own shadow.

A communication request was sent to the bridge of the "Seeker".

"This is the Ninth Legion's flagship, the 'Immortal Wonder.' We have detected your arrival. Legion Commander, we await your arrival."

The voice coming through the communication was elegant and composed, carrying an innate aristocratic air.

"Guide them," Hector calmly ordered.

Soon, a Blood Angels Thunderhawk gunship emerged from the massive flagship, which resembled a moving mountain, and led the Seeker slowly toward the hangar of the Immortal Wonder.

......

When the Seeker docked smoothly in the magnificent hangar of the Immortal Wonder, which could accommodate a small fleet, they were greeted with the highest level of hospitality from the Ninth Legion.

Inside the hangar, the lights were on, as bright as day.

The floor, paved with pure white marble, is as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the giant murals on the dome that depict the countless glorious victories of Saint Gilles.

The air was filled with a unique scent that was a mixture of purifying incense and coolant from precision instruments.

In the center of the hangar.

Two rows of giants, clad in golden Terminator armor and wielding massive power halberds, stood silently like two golden mountains.

The Primarch's most elite guard.

Each of them exuded an aura of power and composure akin to that of a demigod. Their armor was polished to a pristine shine, adorned with exquisitely crafted heraldic emblems. Their faces were covered by death masks sculpted in the perfect likeness of Saint Gilles.

They simply stood there, creating a picture full of holiness and majesty.

And at the very front of the queue.

A lone figure stands.

He was taller than any of the guards behind him.

He wore an exquisitely beautiful power armor crafted from gold and white ceramic steel. Every detail of the armor resembled a timeless work of art.

Behind him, a pair of enormous, pure white wings were folded away. Those wings were not mechanical creations, but real wings made of flesh and feathers. Each feather seemed to radiate a soft, sacred light.

He was not wearing a helmet.

It was a face so perfect that it defied description.

His long, golden hair cascaded down like the sun's rays. His features seemed to be a masterpiece meticulously sculpted by the creator of the universe, using the most precious materials, in a moment of utmost joy.

His eyes, like two azure stars, were filled with nobility, compassion, and... a trace of deep weariness that could not be concealed.

Lord of the Ninth Legion.

He was there, waiting in person.

As Hector and his party descended the landing ramp of the Seeker.

The demigod took a step forward.

He did not wait for the imperial envoy to bow first, as he usually did when receiving imperial envoys.

He took the initiative to clench his right fist, place it horizontally in front of his chest, and nod slightly to Hector.

This is a soldier offering his respect first.

“Hector Kane, the Dao Master of the Dao Academy.”

Saint Gilles' voice, like the most melodious hymn, is full of magnetism and charm.

"I, and all my children, welcome you."

"Your visit has brought... hope to this cursed red land."

His demeanor was extremely humble, almost excessively so.

It possessed none of the majesty or arrogance of the original gene.

It's more like the most sincere respect and expectation shown by a desperate patient when facing a legendary miracle doctor.

Hector felt more and more that the situation might have deteriorated to the point where he could not wait any longer.

Hector stopped in his tracks.

He could clearly sense the terrifying internal war taking place within the vast, ocean-like spiritual energy of the demigod before him.

Chapter 215 The Heroes Exhausted (Bonus Chapter 4)

He also performed the same kowtow to Saint Gilles, a gesture that had been passed down in the monastery.

Left hand as palm, right hand as fist, neither humble nor arrogant.

“Great Primarch, I have come as promised.”

One is the salute of a warrior.

One is the ritual of the Taoist temple.

At this moment, within this cold warship, the two civilizations completed their first equal and formal meeting.

Led by Saint Gilles himself, Hector and his party walked through the monastery of the Immortal Wonder, which was like a mobile fortress.

The scene here is completely different from the Astartes warships that people imagine, filled with blood and fire.

It's less a warship and more a mobile art palace.

Soaring Gothic vaults support a wide dome. The walls are covered with oil paintings and murals painted by the legion's most talented combat monks. In the corners of the corridor stand lifelike statues carved from single blocks of marble.

Every detail showcases the Ninth Legion's innate pursuit of the ultimate in "beauty" and "art".

Along the way, they encountered many Holy Blood Angels dressed in red power armor.

Without exception, these Astartes possessed handsome faces, like those of classical sculptures. Their demeanor was elegant and restrained, exuding aristocratic bearing.

Upon seeing Saint Gilles, they would immediately stop, touch their chests in reverence, and their eyes would be filled with the most fervent worship and love.

Hector and his party, however, keenly sensed the undercurrent of madness hidden beneath this elegance and art.

Hector, through his "aura-reading" technique, could clearly "see" that almost every Holy Blood Angel was entwined with a faint, yet powerful, blood-red aura filled with tyranny and destructive desire.

They suppressed this malevolent energy within their bodies with an iron will. But it was like a volcano that could erupt at any moment, constantly assaulting that thin dam.

Isabel, however, used her unique, anti-psychic senses—the kind that belonged to the Churisas assassins—to perceive another level of "anomaly."

She felt that the soul of every Astartes here was like a taut string stretched to its limit. Any extra stimulus could cause that string to snap completely.

Meanwhile, Barrow and his Dao Guards, relying on their purest warrior instincts, sensed danger.

They felt as if they had walked into the lair of a pack of beasts feigning sleep. Deep in the eyes of those warriors lay a trace of fear—a fear of losing control of themselves—that they themselves were unaware of.

Technical Director Tectus-19 was constantly collecting data using his miniature scanner hidden in his mechanical eye.

"Reporting to the Lord."

His voice, transmitted through an encrypted channel, resounded directly in Hector's mind:

"Preliminary scans showed that all the Astartes present were in a state of 'long-term stress'. The levels of hormones such as adrenaline and dopamine in their bodies were far higher than the resting standard of normal Astartes. Their nervous systems were like an overclocked processor, constantly on the verge of collapse."

All the observations pointed to the same conclusion—

The Holy Blood Angels Legion, a legion that appears outwardly glamorous, elegant, and noble, is internally... terminally ill.

A welcome banquet, intended to give Hector and his party a warm welcome, was held in the flagship's "Valhalla".

The banquet was simple, yet full of the characteristics of the Ninth Legion.

On the long banquet table, instead of fine wine and delicacies, there were glasses of clear water in crystal glasses.

In addition, some bland synthetic foods that can supplement the most basic nutrients.

This is not negligence.

Rather, it is the most severe discipline that the Holy Blood Angels impose on themselves in order to suppress their inner desire for "blood".

Saint Gilles personally poured Hector a glass of water.

"The conditions are simple, please forgive me, Dean." His face showed a hint of apology. "For us, anything that can stimulate the senses could become a spark that ignites that beast."

“It’s alright.” Hector picked up his water glass and said calmly, “The greatest truths are the simplest; even plain water has its true flavor.”

At the banquet, Saint Gilles introduced Hector to several of his highest-ranking officers.

First Company Commander, "The Immortal" Radolon.

Azkaran, commander of the Holy Blood Guard.

Chief think tank, Asterian.

Chief Pharmacist, Melos.

Each of them was a legendary figure renowned throughout the Great Expedition.

They showed Hector sufficient respect, but their eyes still held a deep, undisguised suspicion.

They revered their father, Saint Gilles.

Therefore, they respected the guest who was respected by their father.

But they didn't believe that this "Dao Lord," who seemed as "fragile" as an ordinary mortal, could really solve the curse that had plagued their entire legion for centuries.

Hector was fully aware of this.