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

His tone was full of condescending yet kindly gentleness.

"His Regent has ordered me to present you with a congratulatory gift." Hector respectfully presented the data panel.

Horus casually took it, glanced at it, and set it aside. It contained only some insignificant administrative documents about subsequent fleet movements.

“Very good. Thank Macado for me.” He smiled, preparing to turn around and continue drinking with his brothers.

“Commander-in-Chief,” Hector did not step down, “I also have a personal gift I would like to offer you.”

Horus's smile faded slightly, his star-like eyes narrowed abruptly, and an invisible pressure, a blend of Primarch and Warmaster's authority, instantly enveloped Hector. "A personal gift?" His voice remained gentle, yet carried an undeniable scrutiny. "Child, you must know that today, only my brothers and those heroes who shed their blood for the Empire are worthy to offer me a gift. Tell me, what makes you worthy?"

Hector took out from his robes the "Tranquility Jade Talisman" that he had prepared beforehand and that the sage Alcan had crafted together with him.

The jade talisman, crafted from obsidian from the Noktun volcano, was entirely black, its surface warm and smooth as jade. The moment it appeared, the surrounding clamor and frenzy seemed to be absorbed by its invisible aura of stillness. Under the dazzling lights of the banquet, it reflected no light, instead resembling a miniature black hole, drawing in all light and heat, emanating a calming and refreshing coolness.

"What is this...?" Horus looked at the peculiar jade pendant with great interest.

“This is an artifact from the ancient Terra era that my ancestor obtained by chance,” Hector explained with his prepared words, neither humble nor arrogant. “It is said that it has no magical power. However, when a person is troubled or needs to make an important decision, holding it in their hand will allow them to feel a touch of…coolness from the ancient earth, helping the wearer to keep their mind calm.”

He paused, raised his head, looked directly into Horus's eyes that shone like stars, and spoke slowly in a tone full of sincerity and respect:

"As our ancestors said, 'The dragon that soars too high will regret it, and fullness cannot last.' Supreme glory is like the most blazing sun, shining brightly, but it is also the easiest to burn oneself. I am but a humble person, and I can only use this to wish that you, Commander, may always maintain a trace of tranquility amidst the blazing sun, balance yin and yang, and have a prosperous martial career."

Having said that, he held the jade talisman in both hands and respectfully handed it over.

Horus was deeply moved by these words.

He hadn't expected that such a young mortal could utter such a wise and insightful warning. He looked at Hector, his gaze now holding a genuine scrutiny rather than a mere condescension.

He burst into laughter, a laugh filled with the pride and confidence of being the eldest son.

"Well said! Well said, child!" He took the jade talisman, and sure enough, a refreshing coolness came from his hand, clearing his mind, which was somewhat excited by alcohol and glory.

“I like your gift, and I like your words even more.” He gripped the jade talisman tightly; its cool sensation seemed to penetrate his steel gauntlets, reaching the depths of his soul, momentarily calming the burning heat within him caused by his supreme authority. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the confidence of a war commander. He laughed heartily and casually tucked the jade talisman into the ornate belt at his waist. “What’s your name?”

“Hector Kane, sir.”

“Hector Kane…” Horus repeated the name, nodding. “I’ll remember you. Go on, today is a festival for the entire empire. Go and have a drink too.”

"Thank you, General Xie Zhan."

Hector bowed again, then slowly retreated into the shadows.

The moment he turned and retreated into the shadows, a hint of... indescribable weariness and depth finally appeared on his usually calm face.

He knew he had done all he could. He personally handed the 'Tranquility Jade Talisman,' powerful enough to withstand a fatal mental attack and capable of constantly nurturing the wearer's mind with the power of 'Silence,' to that future great traitor.

He knew that this jade talisman might not be able to stop the tide of history. But at least, in that darkest, most crucial moment, it could preserve for this lost 'Morning Star' a last bit of... a bit of clarity belonging to 'Horus Lupecal' himself...

Chapter 32 Still Water Runs Deep (Breaking Update 3)

The jubilation in Ulano, like the brief afterglow of a supernova explosion, ignited the passion of the entire galaxy to its peak before finally beginning to cool down.

The grand music of the coronation ceremony had long since ceased, and the deafening cheers and war songs of the banquet were gradually replaced by the low, weary conversations of the Space Marines. Countless Space Marines, in this city born of victory, had unleashed their overflowing, conqueror's glory. The air still held the aroma of roasting meat and the strong scent of Fenris ale, but the overwhelming wave of fervor was receding, revealing the cold reef beneath: "reality."

Hector Kane, like a ghost, emerged silently from the shadow of the Imperial Regent once more.

He had just completed a high-stakes gamble, a breathtaking gamble that directly presented the wisdom of mortals to a demigod. He could feel that the small "Tranquility Jade Talisman" on Horus's armor belt was silently emanating a faint yet firm aura of "stillness," like a tiny piece of ice thrown into a raging ocean of lava.

His gaze passed over the Space Marines, who were arm in arm and laughing loudly, and landed on the huge round table that symbolized brotherhood.

The newly appointed Warmaster Horus Lupecal was undoubtedly the absolute center of this grand event. Like the sun, he drew everyone's attention. Saint Gilles, Fograine, and even the ever-wild Leman Ruth surrounded him, sharing in the joy of victory. Their flames of destiny, in Hector's "Path of Silence" psychic vision, were so intense and high that they seemed poised to burn through the dome of the Sky Tower.

But beyond this ocean of light and fire lies a forgotten, cold corner.

The Crimson King, Magnus, sat alone at the very end of the enormous round table. He neither drank nor spoke to anyone. He simply stared silently at the empty golden goblet before him, as if trying to see his humiliating, predetermined future reflected in its smooth surface.

Nicaea's judgment, like an invisible shackle, permanently nailed this once proudest and most learned Primarch to the pillar of shame. He came to Ulanor and fulfilled his duties as the son of the Emperor, but he was like an exiled king, completely out of place amidst all the glory and revelry around him.

Hector could "see" that the vast, nebula-like crimson "aura" surrounding Magnus was no longer as expansive and fluid as it had been in Prospero. It was tightly enveloped by a grayish-black "aura" filled with "resentment" and "suppression," like a volcano about to erupt whose crater had been forcibly plugged. Within it lay a terrifying power capable of destroying everything, yet because of the Emperor's judgment, it could find no outlet.

Hector knew that Loka's absence had also drawn attention. He overheard several Primarchs conversing, their disdainful mockery of their "most devout brother's" absence, assuming he was wallowing in self-pity amidst the ruins of Monakia. Unaware of their ignorance, a seed of destiny, powerful enough to overturn everything, was quietly sprouting aboard the warship known as the "Words of Loyalty." Loka's absence wasn't due to wallowing in past pain, but because he was nurturing a completely new future.

Magnus, on the other hand, represents the other extreme.

He was not absent, but he was more lonely than anyone else who was.

Hector remained silent for a moment. His brain, empowered by the true essence of his perfected "Body Refinement Realm," was working at breakneck speed, like the most sophisticated logic engine. He knew that now was the best, and only, opportunity.

He turned and took a simple, ordinary glass made of clear crystal from a servant beside him. He didn't take the golden goblets filled with fine wine, but instead went to a water purification device and filled two glasses for himself and for the lonely king... the purest, most ordinary, unadulterated... water.

Then, carrying the two glasses of water that seemed out of place in the grand banquet, he walked through the area filled with laughter and merriment, step by step, steadily, toward that corner forgotten by glory.

His actions immediately attracted the attention of those around him. In particular, several members of the Thousand Sons' think tank, including Ahriman and Hathor Matt, were already anxious because of the Primarch's loneliness. Now, seeing this mortal who had once shaken the world in Nicaea dare to approach him, their gazes instantly became incredibly complex, filled with both expectation and deep worry.

Hector ignored them. He walked straight to Magnus, said nothing, and simply bowed slightly, respectfully presenting a cup of water to the Crimson King.

Magnus slowly raised his head. His single eye, burning with psionic flames, fell upon the crystal-clear water, then looked at Hector's calm, undisturbed face, which seemed to reflect the entire starry sky.

In an instant, he understood.

He instantly understood the meaning behind the mortal before him and the glass of water.

—"Waterfall" and "Well".

— “Drinking excessively” and “absorbing”.

— "Accumulation" and "reduction".

This was a silent "philosophical discussion" between the two of them, one that only they could understand.

Hector was reiterating his advice from that day on the Tower of Light in the most direct and pure way. He didn't say a word, but his actions spoke louder than a thousand words.

A complex, indescribable expression appeared on Magnus's divine face, sculpted like a ruby. Within it lay the solace of being understood, the self-mockery of his pride, and a hint of... a struggle of resentment.

He silently took the glass of water and then drank it all in one gulp.

The cool water slid down his demigod-like throat, seemingly extinguishing a flame burning deep within him, fueled by humiliation.

"That well..."

After a long while, Magnus finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, filled with exhaustion.

"...It's very difficult to dig it up."

Hector listened quietly, then responded in the same deep voice:

"But the foundation will be very solid."

Still waters run deep.

After saying this, he bowed slightly again, without saying another word, and turned to leave, holding his untouched glass of water.

This brief, Zen-like exchange was over. He knew that this was all he could do. The rest was up to Magnus to "realize" for himself.

However, the instant he turned around, Ahriman and Hathor Matt, along with several other high-ranking members of the Sons of a Thousand Sins, appeared before him like ghosts, blocking his path.

“Mr. Kane,” Ahriman’s voice carried a hint of barely suppressed urgency, “please wait.”

Hector looked at them, at the desperate look in their eyes, like drowning people clinging to a piece of driftwood, and sighed softly.

He knew that his real "lesson" was only just beginning.

Chapter 33 A Stroll in the Garden (Combined Chapters 4 and 5)

The nights in Ulanno are chilly.

As the revelry on the rooftop gradually dwindled to the incoherent ramblings of a few drunkards, Hector followed Ahriman and the others to a secluded, unknown corner of this triumphant city.

This is a floating garden. Clearly at the behest of a Primarch, craftsmen used anti-gravity technology to transport a massive floating island from Prospero here intact. Within the garden grow various exotic flowers and plants unique to Prospero, radiating a soft psionic aura. A path paved with moonstone winds its way through the flowerbeds. The air is filled with the fragrance of flowers and the moist scent of earth, a truly refreshing experience.

Here, there is no clamor of celebration, only the soft moonlight of Nicaea and the low hum of the starship engines in the distance, like the breath of the universe.

Like the white-robed philosophers of ancient Terra before its golden age, they strolled slowly through this tranquil garden, engaging in a "philosophical debate" that concerned the future of a legion, and even the entire empire.

“We’ve all seen it, Hector,” Ahriman spoke first, his voice filled with worry. “My father’s pride cost him everything. The judgment of Nicaea is like a shackle, binding all of us. We are forbidden to research, forbidden to explore, and regarded as…heretics by the entire Empire.”

“The ‘flesh mutation’ within the Legion hasn’t stopped despite the ban,” Hathor Matt continued, his almost artist-like melancholic face etched with pain. “On the contrary, because we can no longer actively channel it with psionic energy, the curse originating deep within our genes is becoming increasingly active. On the way to Ulanor, three more young monks transformed into unspeakable monsters in their sleep. We can only… purify them ourselves.”

His voice trembled slightly.

“Hector,” Ahriman stopped, turned, and stared intently at him with eyes burning with the fire of knowledge, “what you call the ‘way of silence,’ what you call the ‘mind,’ is our… only hope. Please tell us, what should we do?”

Hector looked at them, at these demigods who stood at the pinnacle of galactic wisdom, yet now resembled a group of lost children reaching out to him, a mortal, seeking answers.

He understood that the time was ripe.

"Master of the Achriman School, Lord Matt," Hector's voice was calm yet powerful. "The reason you are suffering and confused is because you have been using the mindset of 'technique' to understand the issues of 'principle'."

“You regard the ‘Way of Silence’ as a method to quickly cure ‘flesh mutation’. You are wrong.”

"The mutation of flesh and blood is merely the 'effect.' The 'cause' that caused this 'effect' is your restless, insatiable, and perpetually restless 'heart.' To treat the effect without addressing the cause is tantamount to trying to stop boiling water by adding more water."

He held up a finger and gently drew a circle in the air: “Your hearts are like a boundless library,” he said, using a more relatable metaphor, “containing all the knowledge of the universe, and therefore filled with countless contradictory noises. What you’ve done in the past is try to read all the books at once, which only drives you mad. What I’m talking about as the ‘mind’ is not some mysterious technique, but simply teaching you how to build yourself a… quiet ‘desk’ that belongs only to you in the middle of this noisy library.”

“What you need to do is not learn how to build it, but… ‘become’ it.”

"When you sit in meditation, imagine yourself as that absolute 'stillness.' When a thought arises, do not follow it, nor suppress it; simply observe it as if it were a cloud on the horizon. When a pain strikes, do not resist it, nor indulge in it; simply feel it as it is, as if it were a gentle breeze brushing your cheek. Over time, you will discover that in the spaces between those thoughts and feelings, there exists a... eternal, unborn and undying 'background.' That is your 'mind,' and your true 'self.'"

This Zen-like explanation left the think tank members deep in thought for a long time.

“This path is difficult and slow,” Hector continued. “It cannot immediately eradicate your curse, but it can provide you with a solid ‘foundation.’ An ‘anchor’ that will not be completely blown down in the more terrible storms to come.”

“The future…storm?” Ahriman keenly grasped the word.

Hector nodded. He knew it was time to reveal the truly grand plan to these future allies he had chosen.

"Ahriman, do you think the Nicaea Council has truly solved the problem?"

“Of course not,” Ahriman blurted out. “It just covers up all the problems. Like a stupid doctor who, afraid to see the wound, haphazardly wraps it with a dirty rag. This only makes the wound fester faster in places that can’t be seen.”

“Well said.” Hector’s eyes flashed with approval. “The Empire is sick. The root of the problem lies in its contradictory attitude of both dependence on and fear of the Warp. And Nicaea is just a culmination of this illness. His Majesty’s judgment, seemingly a compromise, is in reality just forcibly putting a lid on a volcano that is about to erupt. But the volcano will eventually erupt.”

“I once presented Lord Macado with a complete theoretical report on the ‘Way of Silence’.”

Hector dropped a bombshell: "In that report, I detailed how to establish a completely new, safe, quantifiable, and regulated system for the training of psionicists that is officially recognized by the Empire. Of course, it is currently only a general direction and framework. Ultimately, it will become a system that can transform all psionicists like you, with firm minds and a pursuit of knowledge, from 'time bombs' into the Empire's most valuable 'wealth'."

Ahriman and Hathor Matt's breathing quickened instantly. They stared at Hector in disbelief, as if listening to a myth that should not be spoken by mortals.

At this moment, Hector produced the blank scroll made of Prospero silk that he had prepared beforehand. Hathor Matt immediately recognized it as the gift he had given Hector as a token of his gratitude.

The scroll contains the essence of his report to Makado, related to "stillness," which can serve as the true method of spiritual practice.

He handed the scroll to Ahriman, who carefully accepted it with slightly trembling hands.

On the smooth silk flowed passages of text, translated into High Gothic, yet still radiating the light of ancient wisdom:

"Great perfection seems flawed, yet its use is inexhaustible. Great fullness seems empty, yet its use is boundless..."

"Agitation overcomes cold, stillness overcomes heat. Tranquility is the way to order the world."

"Know the male, but keep to the female, and be the valley of the world. Be the valley of the world, and your constant virtue will never depart from you, and you will return to the state of an infant."

"The sage's stillness is not because stillness is good, but because nothing can disturb his mind, hence stillness. Still water reflects even the finest details, and is perfectly level; great craftsmen take it as their model. If still water is so clear, how much more so the spirit!"

These words were practically incomprehensible to any ordinary citizen of the Empire. But for scholars like Ahriman and Hathor Matt, who stood at the pinnacle of galactic wisdom, each word was like a battering ram, relentlessly pounding against the rigid mental barriers that were already filled with psionic knowledge.

“‘Great perfection seems flawed’…” Hathor Matt murmured, his artist-like eyes shining with unprecedented brilliance. “The greatest perfection appears as incompleteness… This… is practically the ultimate irony of our Legion’s ‘flesh mutation’ curse! We have always tried to ‘fill’ our own defects with more power, but we have never thought that these defects themselves may be part of ‘perfection’?”

“‘Stillness overcomes heat’…” Ahriman’s breathing became more rapid as he stared intently at the words. “The warp is ‘hot’, it’s frenzied! We’ve been trying to fight it with even more intense ‘heat’ (psychic energy), but that only leads to getting burned. And this path… tells us to use ‘stillness,’ absolute stillness, to defeat it? This… this is simply…”

This is completely overturning all the knowledge they have built up over hundreds of years!

“Mr. Kane,” another think tank member looked up, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement, “that last part… ‘Still waters reflect clearly, how much more so the spirit’… what profound insight! We’ve always used psychic abilities to ‘peek’ into the future, like stirring up a pool of muddy water with a stick, always seeing only distorted reflections. But you tell us that as long as the spirit can truly ‘still’ like water, the truth of the universe will… naturally reflect in our hearts?”

They were both shocked and almost ecstatic. The philosophical depth behind these short, metaphorical sentences was far closer to the "essence" than any psychic manipulation masterpiece in their library.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg of the 'Way of Silence'," Hector said calmly. "It cannot give you immediate strength, but it can give you...direction. I suggest you carefully write these words down. Do not treat them as dogma to be followed, but as...signposts. In every moment of meditation, whenever you feel restless, savor and contemplate them. They will become your most reliable lighthouse in this turbulent sea."

“The establishment of this system will take time, and even more so, it will need… role models.” Hector’s gaze gradually sharpened and became sincere. “I am just a mortal, with little influence. Even with the Regent’s support, shaking the deep-seated prejudices of the entire empire is almost a pipe dream. I need… allies.”

His gaze swept over each of the thousand sons present.

“I need you, Sons of the Thousand Sins. I need you, with your unparalleled intellect and the deepest understanding of psychic powers, to be the first to walk this new path, the first pioneers!”

"When the future arrives, when that storm destined to sweep across the entire galaxy descends; when countless psionicists, in fear and despair, throw themselves into the embrace of chaos; when the entire empire, driven by its hatred of witchcraft, descends into a civil war of mutual slaughter—"

“I hope that by then, you will stand up like a lighthouse, proving to the entire Empire that psychic powers are not a sin; proving to all your lost brethren that there is a third way between indulgence and prohibition!”

"Your mission is no longer to flaunt powerful 'techniques' that can distort reality, but to protect the most fundamental 'Tao' that can bring peace to the soul."

"This is the true future of your legion. This is the last spark of hope you can leave for the Empire."

The entire garden fell into a long, deathly silence.