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

He knew that Eribus would not let this go. The public humiliation in the palace that day was an unforgivable disgrace for a schemer who valued dignity and manipulation more than life itself. He would not launch another reckless frontal attack; instead, he would use his most effective methods—incitement, public opinion, and "faith" itself—to lay an inescapable trap for Hectorb.

The storm arrived as expected, three Terra days later.

A knock sounded, neither too loud nor too soft, yet carrying an undeniable rhythm. The visitor was the Legion's second priest, Cole Fallon's most trusted disciple, a high-ranking priest named Jaha. Unlike Eribas, he wasn't handsome; his face was like dried rock, but his eyes burned like embers, filled with the fervor characteristic of a fanatic.

“Advisor Kane,” Jaha’s voice was hoarse, yet carried a condescending “politeness,” “At the joint request of several company commanders and priests of the Legion, we hope that you can go to the ‘Hall of Truth’ to preach and enlighten us.”

He deliberately emphasized the words "preaching and resolving doubts," making no attempt to conceal the provocation hidden beneath his respect.

Hector slowly opened his eyes; he knew his "first lesson" had begun.

“That’s how it should be.” He stood up calmly, as if he had expected all of this.

The so-called "Hall of Truth" was the place where Eribus had shown him the "Fire of Truth" that day. When Hector, "guided" by Jaha, stepped into the hall again, the scene inside had changed dramatically.

The psionic flame, composed of countless books, still burned fiercely in its center. But now, instead of ordinary monks kneeling in prayer, it was surrounded by at least three hundred space warriors clad in dark red power armor. Most of them were high-ranking members of the legion—commanders, priests, former think tank members… They were the backbone of the Word Bearers Legion and the most loyal supporters of the Eribus ideology.

They didn't form a military formation, but rather stood seemingly casually like a group of scholars attending a debate. However, their heavy powered armor, the murderous aura they inadvertently exuded, and the scrutinizing gazes that focused on them as if they were real made the air in the entire hall as thick as mercury.

Iribus wasn't present. But his omnipresent influence was like a giant net, enveloping everyone present.

Hector could clearly sense that these people emanated a contradictory and extremely unstable mental state. On the one hand, because of the Primarch's orders, they maintained a minimum level of respect for themselves as "metaphysical advisors"; but on the other hand, their rejection and hatred of all "heresy" stirred up by the "Primal Truth" made them wish they could immediately tie this mortal of unknown origin to the stake.

Hector's arrival caused no commotion. Everyone simply watched him silently and indifferently.

Jaha led him to the front of the "Fire of Truth," then turned to face the three hundred Space Marines and proclaimed in his rousing voice: "Brothers! Today, we are fortunate to hear the teachings of Hector Cain, the metaphysical advisor from Terra, personally appointed by our Lord!"

“Advisor Kane,” he turned, his face displaying a hollow, insincere piety, “since the injustice suffered by our Lord, my Legion has been relentlessly pursuing the ‘Primordial Truth,’ which transcends even the Emperor. We believe that truth is all-encompassing and all-encompassing! It accepts all and listens to all! Whether it be sacred prayers or malevolent curses; whether it be the joy of creation or the wrath of destruction… all of this is part of the reality of the universe! We must embrace all of this in order to ultimately reach that ultimate wisdom!”

His voice grew increasingly impassioned, drawing low, approving responses from the surrounding believers.

"And your 'way of silence,' we've heard, is centered on 'subtraction,' on 'silence.' This confuses us." A venomous glint flashed in Jaha's eyes. "May I ask, advisor, when the universe is roaring, when truth is calling us to embrace more possibilities, isn't the 'silence' you advocate a... cowardly, deaf-closed escape? Isn't your so-called 'subtraction' castrating our courage to pursue truth, leading us back to that pathetic ignorance bound by the 'sole truth'?"

This question is insidious and vicious. It directly defines Hector's "way of silence" as another variant of "Imperial Truth," placing him on the most sensitive and resistant side in the hearts of all those who wish to speak.

Hector glanced around at the hostile and scrutinizing eyes. He knew that any profound philosophical debate was meaningless at this moment. He had to use the simplest, most intuitive, and also the most... disruptive method to shatter their seemingly unbreakable logical loop.

He didn't answer Jaha's question directly. He simply calmly extended his hand to a servant standing beside him and said, "Please give me two cups of water. One, from the purest circulation system on the warship. The other..." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Jaha's confident face, "...from the waste disposal pipes."

This strange request stunned everyone. A hint of confusion flashed in Jaha's eyes, but he still waved his hand, signaling his servant to comply.

Soon, two glasses of liquid were served. One was clear and transparent, like crystal under the reflection of the psionic flames. The other was murky and emitting a nauseating stench, with some indescribable filth floating in it.

Hector placed two glasses of water in front of everyone.

“Pastor Jha,” he asked calmly, “you just said that truth lies in embracing ‘everything.’ Now, both of these glasses of water are truly before you. Please choose one and drink it.”

Jaha's face instantly turned extremely ugly.

Chapter 17 The First Lesson of a Metaphysical Consultant (Part 2)

He would definitely choose the glass of water.

"What? Why are you hesitating?" Hector's tone carried a hint of sarcasm. "Isn't this filthy water a part of the true universe? Isn't refusing it precisely the 'cowardly escape' you speak of?"

"This...this is sophistry!" Jaha's face flushed red as he angrily retorted, "Water is for quenching thirst! Naturally, we would choose the purest form! But what does that have to do with the pursuit of truth?"

"Relationship?" Hector laughed. He picked up the glass of water, held it high so everyone could see it. "The relationship is that your souls also need to 'quench their thirst'! And what you're doing now is trying to mix this glass of water with that glass of filth, and then tell yourselves that this mixture is the most 'inclusive' and most 'authentic' drink!"

He suddenly splashed the glass of water onto the ground.

"You are wrong!" His voice suddenly rose in pitch at that moment, like a morning bell and evening drum, striking the hearts of every believer!

"Inclusivity is not mixing! Wisdom is not eclecticism!"

True strength is never about embracing filth, but about having the ability to discern and filter it out!

He turned to face the blazing "fire of truth," his eyes filled with nothing but endless compassion, devoid of any awe.

"My family's classic text once said: 'The highest good is like water.'"

"The highest form of goodness is like water. It has seven virtues, and these seven virtues are precisely what you lack most right now."

"Water 'dwells in good places.' It always flows to the lowest places, yet it nourishes all things and brings them to life. This is 'humility.' But you, because you were humiliated by your father, have turned to seek a higher 'truth,' one that surpasses even the emperor. You have long forgotten what humility is!"

"Water, 'the heart is like an abyss.' Its heart is as calm and clear as an abyss. This is 'stillness and tranquility.' But you, on the contrary, have willingly opened your hearts, allowing countless chaotic and malicious voices from the subspace to flood in, turning your hearts into a noisy and frenzied marketplace!"

“Water, 'benevolent,' 'trustworthy,' 'just,' 'capable,' 'timely'…” Hector’s voice grew louder and louder. Each virtue he spoke of was like a heavy hammer, slamming down on the distorted beliefs of those who believed in it. “It represents benevolence, trustworthiness, order, ability, and timing! And what about you? What is left of your actions besides prejudice, self-deception, chaos, and blind action?”

The entire temple of truth was completely silent. All those who wished to speak were rendered speechless by this unprecedented yet profoundly insightful discourse on the "Seven Virtues of Water."

"You think you are pursuing the truth, but you are only pursuing a more powerful 'authority' that can provide shelter for your 'resentment'! You have never really thought that you are just... jumping from one cage into another larger and more dangerous cage!"

Finally, Hector walked up to Jaha, stared into his pupils which were constricted violently by shame, anger, and shock, and uttered the final verdict that brought this "first lesson" to a close.

"My ancestor's classic texts gave the final definition of the highest realm of 'water'."

That is—'benefiting all things without contention'.

“True, almost divine power does not need to argue, prove, or use flowery language and grand ceremonies to demonstrate its existence. It simply exists there, shining like the sun and bearing like the earth, silently benefiting all things.”

“And you,” Hector’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over every Space Marine present before finally settling on Jaha, piercing his very soul, “you fight endlessly, you try to prove your ‘truth’ is more ‘real’ than others’ through grand rituals and bloody conquests. What you fight for are believers, power, the Primarch’s favor, even the so-called ‘gifts’ of the Chaos Gods! You have fought for everything, but you have lost only… yourselves.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire hall fell into an even deeper, suffocating silence than before.

The "fire of truth" that was burning brightly was still flickering silently, but at this moment, in the eyes of the three hundred believers, the flame no longer seemed so sacred, but instead had a hint of... falsehood and emptiness.

Jaha, the eloquent and steadfast high priest, was now deathly pale, his lips trembling slightly, yet he couldn't utter a single word. Hector's words, spoken without the use of any psychic power, were more deadly than the most vicious mental attack. Because he wasn't attacking Jaha's will, but rather the very foundation of the logical system upon which his will rested.

When the foundation is shaken, all the magnificent buildings upon which they are built will crumble. He could not refute it, for Hector's analogy was so simple, so…right.

No one would drink that cup of sewage, so what gives them the right to demand that their souls embrace filth?

"Lesson One is now over."

Hector didn't glance at them again, as if he had merely accomplished a trivial task. He nodded slightly to the flame as a sign of respect for "knowledge," then turned and walked steadily out of the hall.

Three hundred Space Marines, three hundred demigods of slaughter, watched this mortal's thin back in silence and with complex emotions. Not one of them spoke, and not one of them tried to stop him.

Once Hector's figure had completely disappeared outside the gate, the atmosphere that had been forcibly suppressed erupted like a flood bursting its banks.

"Nonsense!" a company commander roared, drawing his chainsaw from his waist. "He's blaspheming! He's denying everything we have!"

“But what he said…isn’t it reasonable?” another Astartes retorted in an almost dreamlike voice, “Inclusion…isn’t it really not mixing?”

"Silence!" Jaha finally recovered from the devastating blow. With all his might, he roared and forcefully suppressed the commotion. An undisguised fear and ferocity appeared on his rock-like face.

He knew that Hector Kane, this seemingly harmless mortal, was a thousand times more terrifying than he had imagined. He wasn't there to preach; he was there to... destroy his spirit!

He planted a seed of doubt. And for a legion built entirely on "absolute faith," doubt is the most deadly plague.

Jaha stared intently in the direction Hector had gone, his eyes burning red like embers, brimming with murderous intent.

He knew he had to devise a more thorough and deadly method before the Primarch was completely "corrupted" by this heresy.

A way to make Hector Kane, along with his damned "way of silence," disappear completely, body and soul.

Chapter 18 Loka's Illumination of the Five Aggregates

Hector's "First Lesson" was like a silent psionic storm that swept through the core of the "Words of Loyalty".

Over the next few days, the atmosphere on the warship became unusually strange.

Those monks who once chanted scriptures aloud and demonstrated their piety through self-torturing asceticism now spoke in much lower voices. They continued to fulfill their duties, but that once unquestionable fervor seemed to be shrouded in a thin mist called "confusion." In private, they began to discuss, in the deepest of voices, the simple yet almost humiliating metaphor left by the mortal advisor—clear water and polluted water.

After being banished from Logar's sanctuary, Eribus vanished without a trace, as if he had never existed. But Hector could sense that in the unseen shadows, a pair of venomous eyes were constantly watching his every move, like a viper waiting for the perfect moment.

Loga Aurelion, meanwhile, completely secluded himself within the obsidian tomb. He summoned no one, neither Hector nor his loyal priests. The entire warship seemed to await its master's final conclusion, born from a fierce internal struggle.

Hector didn't disturb him. He knew that for a "mountain" like Loga, which had already collapsed once, any external force could cause an even more complete second collapse. The seed he had planted needed time to take root in the cracks of the ruins, relying on its own strength.

It wasn't until late on the seventh Terra Day that the door to Hector's Quiet Room slid open silently. A Space Marine in a grey cloak stood silently in the doorway and gestured for him to enter.

There was no announcement, no words. But Hector knew that Loka was ready.

This time, he was not led to that magnificent sanctuary filled with death and sorrow. After passing through a dark corridor where only runic stones emitted a faint glow, they arrived at a smaller, circular meditation room made entirely of unpolished black rock.

There were no decorations, no scriptures, not even a throne. In the center of the room, there was only a flat, black rock protruding from the ground, like a solitary island. And on that solitary island, Loka Aurelion, still wearing his simple ascetic robes, sat cross-legged.

He seemed to have been here for a very long time, maintaining the same posture.

"I failed."

This was the first thing Loka said to Hector after they met. His voice was even hoarser than before, filled with a deep, bone-deep weariness from countless futile attempts.

“I tried, as you said, to… ‘look inward.’” He slowly raised his head, his once empty eyes now filled with bloodshot veins and a deeper, more chaotic mix of pain and madness. “But what I saw was not the ‘spark’ you spoke of. What I saw… was hell.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the air in the entire quiet room seemed to be infected by his violent will, becoming thick and heavy. Instantly, countless distorted illusions made of psychic energy appeared before Hector's eyes.

He saw Monakia's "perfect city" reduced to a sea of ​​fire by the Ultramarines' orbital bombardment. The pure white marble shattered in the flames, the magnificent imperial statues collapsed in the explosion, and the screams and wails of millions of believers, like tangible sound waves, violently assaulted his eardrums.

He saw the emperor's blurry yet incredibly majestic face. The cold, emotionless words, "I am not a god, and you have disappointed me," echoed repeatedly in the depths of his soul like the most vicious curse in the universe.

He even saw, in the deeper reaches of the subspace, some indescribable, enormous shadows, filled with malice and temptation, mocking Loga's broken heart with greedy, silent laughter.

“I tried to be still,” Loka’s voice was filled with suppressed pain, “but my memories are roaring, my shame is screaming! They are like a pack of hungry beasts, tearing at my soul! The more I try to suppress them, the more fiercely they resist! Tell me, Hector Kane! Is this the ‘Tao’ you speak of? Is this the inner ‘temple’ you made me search for? It is clearly a… eternal… prison that holds all my pain!”

Faced with this tangible mental storm originating from a Primarch, Hector did not retreat. He simply stood there quietly, letting the painful illusions pass through his body. His "field of silence," like a reef in a stormy ocean, steadfastly protected him, yet offered no resistance to the raging waters.

It wasn't until Loka's emotions reached a breaking point that the violent psionic energy gradually subsided.

“My Primarch,” Hector’s voice was as calm as an ancient well, yet it sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet room filled with echoes of pain, “that you failed not because you were not strong enough. Quite the opposite, it was because you… were too strong.”

"You are trying to 'conquer' your pain with your will. It's like a king trying to conquer all the rebellious people in his country with violence. You may be able to suppress them temporarily, but their resentment will only accumulate in silence into a more terrible force, waiting for the next outbreak."

Hector slowly walked to the "isolated island" made of black rocks and met Loka's gaze.

"The 'way of silence' never teaches people to 'conquer' pain. It teaches people to 'understand' pain, and ultimately... 'transcend' pain."

He stretched out his hand and, with his fingertips, gently wrote three ancient, Zen-like Eastern characters in the air.

"Observe...self...existence..."

“This is the core idea of ​​another classic work of my ancestors,” Hector explained. “‘Observation’ means to see. ‘Self-existence’ does not mean being free, but rather ‘what you are as you are.’ Put together, it means to observe that which constitutes your own essence.”

"What is that?" Luo Jia pressed, his attention completely captivated by this entirely new concept.

“It is the ‘five aggregates’,” Hector replied, “form, feeling, perception, mental formations, and consciousness.”

He knew that using overly esoteric Buddhist theories would be incomprehensible to a Primarch. He had to "translate" it in the most straightforward way possible.

"'Color' is your physical body, all the matter you can perceive. Is this powerful demigod's body you? It is, but not entirely."

“‘Suffering,’ that’s your feeling. Monakia’s pain, the humiliation and anger…” Loka interrupted him, his voice carrying a suppressed roar: “But those feelings are real! Monakia’s flames still burn in my soul!”

“Yes, my Primarch, feelings are real,” Hector replied calmly. “But they are also like flowing water; the anger of this moment will replace the sorrow of the previous moment, and the calm of the next moment will eventually come. Feelings are passersby, not masters. They are storms on your land, but they are not the land itself.”

"'Thoughts' are your thoughts. Your thirst for truth, your adoration for your father, your plans for the future... Are these thoughts you? Yes, but not entirely."

"'Doing' is your will, your determination to drive yourself to act."

“‘Consciousness’ is your most fundamental consciousness, the core that can integrate all of the above and believe ‘this is me’.”

Hector looked into Loka's eyes, which were filled with confusion yet desperately trying to think, and uttered that earth-shattering, ultimate judgment that could overturn all mortal worldviews.

"Our ancestors' classic texts summarized this wisdom in a supreme passage:"

"'Seeing that the five aggregates are all empty, one transcends all suffering and distress.'"

Chapter 19 Kneeling before one's Primarch

"'null'?"

Lojia's brows furrowed deeply; this word touched the most sensitive chord in his heart. After Monachia, what he felt was an endless "emptiness."

“Yes, ‘emptiness’.” Hector’s tone became extremely solemn. “But this ‘emptiness’ is not the kind of ‘nothingness’ that you understand, the kind that devours everything. On the contrary, it is a deeper ‘reality’. It means that nothing in the universe, including your suffering and your ‘self’, has an isolated, unchanging entity. Its essence is ‘dependent origination’—composed of countless conditions.”

“My Primarch, please think carefully. What is it that causes your pain right now? It is the memory of Monakia, the words of the Emperor, the gaze of your brothers, your own obsession with ‘truth’... All of this is like countless threads, together weaving a giant net called ‘Logar’s Pain’.”

As Hector spoke, the floating runestones in the quiet room flickered, their shadows transforming into countless interwoven threads, making the entire space appear dreamlike. "This net seems indestructible, but its 'existence' depends entirely on each and every thread. Once you understand this, and dismantle these threads one by one, will the 'net' still exist?"

"Your physical body is changing; your feelings are arising and ceasing; your thoughts are flowing... Nothing is permanent. They are all just temporary 'phenomena' that come together temporarily. When you can truly and clearly 'see' this, you will understand that the 'I' that is troubled and suffering because of these phenomena is not itself an eternal entity."

"When you no longer cling to 'my' pain, 'my' faith, 'my' betrayal, that pain loses its foundation. It still exists, but it can no longer harm you. This is true 'mastery.' The king who tried to conquer his people with violence finally understood that he didn't need to conquer anyone. He only needed to 'become' the entire kingdom, understand the cause of every storm, and see the veins of every piece of land. The storms will still come, but the kingdom itself will become richer and more complete as a result."

"This is what it means to 'transcend all suffering'."

The entire quiet room fell into a long, deathly silence once again.

Loka, who once tried to define the Primitive God with the most magnificent scriptures, was now completely shattered by a short eleven-word scripture from a distant land, shattering all his understanding of "self" and "world" that he had built up over the past few centuries.

He had always believed himself to be the one who suffered. But now, this mortal was telling him that being the "sufferer" was itself a...illusion?