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

Ahriman, Hathor Matt, and the think tanks behind them were all utterly awestruck by Hector's grand and strongly fatalistic blueprint.

At first, they only wanted to find an "antidote" from this mortal man that could cure the curse.

And now, this mortal has given them a "mission" that is enough to save the entire legion, and even the entire empire!

Their personal "self-salvation" was elevated to an immense level at this moment, sublimating into a sacred "holy war" concerning the survival of civilization.

A long time, a long time.

Ahriman, the future Archmage, bowed his proud head deeply and sincerely to a mortal.

He was not submitting to Hector himself, but paying the highest tribute to the path he represented, to that glimmer of hope.

“We…understand.” His voice was devoid of any urgency or restlessness, replaced by a steadfastness and composure born of a mission. He placed his right hand on his chest in Prospero’s oldest ritual, swearing an oath from the heart.

"The Way of Silence will become the most core secret of the Sons of the Thousand Sins. We, the guardians of the flame of Prospero, hereby swear that we will protect this path with our wisdom and our lives, until the stars are extinguished."

Chapter 34 Loyalty is Justified (6 Extra Chapters)

The moonlight in Ulano, cool and clear as water, quietly spilled over the rooftop garden in the style of Prospero.

When Ahriman and the think tank of the Thousand Sons behind him swore an oath to Hector Cain and the "Way of Silence" he represented with the most ancient rites, Hector could clearly feel that strong, pure, and inquisitive threads of cause and effect had extended from these powerful demigods and were tightly linked to his own insignificant fate.

He succeeded. He not only etched an indelible mark on the Crimson King's heart, but also personally ignited a spark of hope within this legion destined for eternal damnation.

However, when he bid farewell alone to the Sons of a Thousand Sicknesses who revered him like gods and returned to the temporary residence that Makado had arranged for him in the shadow of Skyrise, an unprecedented, deep-seated weariness overwhelmed him like a flood breaking its banks.

It wasn't physical exhaustion. On the contrary, in Ulanno, a land of "fortune" filled with victory and glory, his inner energy was more active than usual. That weariness stemmed from his soul.

From the moment he set foot in this city of triumph, his mind was like a string stretched to its limit, constantly taut, engaged in a high-intensity struggle. Facing Horus, he needed to pinpoint that crack called "intense heat" beneath that blazing glory, and then deliver the "calming jade charm" at just the right moment—serving as a warning without arousing the other's vigilance or resentment.

Facing Magnus, he must, with a cup of water, play a silent "game" on the Primarch's heart, which has gradually closed off due to humiliation, to reopen the possibility of dialogue. And facing Ahriman and the others, he must mobilize all the wisdom of his two lives, transforming the ethereal "Tao" into a grand "mission" that would be enough for these proud demigods to dedicate themselves to.

Every step of this was fraught with peril, and the mental strain it placed on them far surpassed that of any previous direct battle.

“Excessive rigidity leads to breakage, and excessive fullness leads to overflow.” Hek sat cross-legged in the quiet room, slowly circulating the mental technique of “reaching the ultimate emptiness and maintaining steadfast stillness” to calm his mental sea, which was slightly turbulent due to excessive consumption. “This trip to Ulano seems to have yielded a lot, but in reality… it has also burdened this small ‘vessel’ with too much ‘cause and effect.’ Before it is completely digested and absorbed, it is not advisable to make any rash moves.”

He knew very well that he had to go into seclusion.

He needed a period of absolute quiet and undisturbed time to reflect on the many insights he had gained from his contact with the Primarchs, to sort out the theoretical foundation he had presented to Macardo that would lay the groundwork for the future of the Empire, and, more importantly, to make the most thorough preparations for his upcoming breakthrough from "Body Refinement" to "Foundation Building".

The next morning, before the embers of the celebration had completely cooled and most of the Space Marines were still reveling in their hangovers and glory, Hector came to Macado once again.

“My lord, I request permission to return to Terra.” He got straight to the point, his tone respectful yet firm.

The Imperial Regent stood before a massive holographic star map, his ancient eyes seeming to gaze into the darkest corners of the galaxy. He didn't turn around, but simply asked, "Why the rush? This victory deserves to be savored for a few more days."

“My lord,” Hector replied, “the moment the flames burn at their zenith is the moment ashes are born. My mission here is complete, and there is no point in me lingering. I need time to process what I have seen and heard on this journey, and to prepare for… the coming of the next storm.”

Macardo slowly turned around, and a barely perceptible smile, like the warm winter sun, appeared on his wrinkled face.

“You always see things that others don’t, child.” He nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Very good. ‘Knowing when to advance and when to retreat, and surviving even in the face of death without losing one’s principles,’ this is perhaps part of your ‘way of silence.’ I approve.”

He abruptly changed the subject, his gaze sweeping over the thirty "Dao Guards" behind Hector, who stood like javelins, their expressions cold and their eyes burning with black flames.

“Your ‘guards’ are quite interesting.” Makado’s voice held a hint of inquiry. “I can’t sense any faith in the Emperor or even loyalty to the Empire from them. I only sense a kind of… pure, tempered ‘will’. A kind of… will that is willing to turn to ashes to protect a certain ‘idea’.”

“They are ‘seekers,’ my lord,” Hector replied calmly. “Their faith is the path they have chosen themselves.”

"A path...not defined by the Empire?" Makado's words carried a hint of danger.

“A path… that exists to protect the innocent of the Empire,” Hector replied neither humbly nor arrogantly.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the air seeming to freeze. Finally, Macardo slowly nodded.

“I understand.” He waved his hand gently, and a data panel flew into Hector’s palm. “From this day forward, ‘The Guardians’ will be a special operations unit directly under the Regent of the Empire, with a legitimate designation and identity. Their supplies will be handled directly by my office. There are many challenges ahead, child. It is important to have a loyal force that shares your ideals. As long as you and your power are ultimately for humanity and loyal to humanity, the Empire… will accept you.”

These words were nothing short of a top-tier protective charm. In his own way, Macardo reaffirmed Hector's value and cleared away one of the biggest obstacles on his future path.

"As for your journey," Macado continued, "that Martian sage, Alkan, seems to have taken a keen interest in your 'alchemy.' His research could be of great benefit to the Empire. You may travel together. I will arrange the fastest route for you."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Hector bowed deeply.

On the bridge, Heck sat cross-legged, his eyes slightly closed. But his mind was not absorbed in his cultivation. His "silent domain," like an invisible tide, gently yet firmly covered the entire bridge.

Within this area, thirty Daoist guards dressed in grey monk robes were completing their daily "morning lessons" in a peculiar posture with an oriental flair. They were not exercising their muscles or practicing martial arts, but rather "standing in a stance."

Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms clasped in front of their chests as if embracing an invisible circle. Their bodies remained motionless, like ancient pines deeply rooted in the earth. Their breaths were long and deep, gradually merging with the rhythmic, low rumble of the warship's engines.

Their eyes remained cold, still burning with the black flames of hatred originating from the ruins of Monakia. But deep within those flames, there was an unprecedented stillness.

What Hector taught them was not the art of killing, but... the method of "guarding the mind".

He refined and simplified the "Embracing the One" mental principle from the *Tao Te Ching*, specifically the line "Can you keep your spirit and soul united and not let them depart?", and combined it with Tai Chi to create a physical training method perfectly suited to them. He told them, "The hatred in your hearts is the most powerful fuel in the universe, but if you let it burn unchecked, it will eventually reduce you to ashes. What you need to do is become the most skilled 'craftsmen,' learning to control the temperature of the flame, using this flame to forge your bodies and temper your will."

"Standing meditation" is the first step in controlling the flames. When the body can remain as still as a mountain, the mind can remain as calm as a deep pool.

Sage Alkan anchored his massive cyborg body to the other side of the bridge. His countless optical sensors, with almost greedy focus, recorded every change in the bioelectric currents of the Dao Guardians during their cultivation, analyzing the energy exchange between their peculiar "aura" and the surrounding environment.

“Incredible…” His electronic voice crackled through Hector’s private communication channel, brimming with barely suppressed excitement. “Their cellular energy metabolism rate, after entering this ‘restless’ state, is reduced by 70% compared to ordinary mortals. But their muscle fiber strength and nerve reaction speed are slowly and steadily…increasing in a way that completely transcends the realm of known biology!”

“This is the essence of ‘doing nothing yet accomplishing everything’,” Hector said calmly. “When the body stops wasting its energy, the life force saved will nourish itself.”

“A logical paradox, a factual miracle…” Alkan murmured, “Kane, your ‘path’ is opening a door to a whole new universe for me. By the God of Machines, this is far more… fascinating than deciphering any standard template blueprint.”

In this strange tranquility filled with both "spiritual practice" and "research," the Seeker sailed steadily through the real universe.

However, this tranquility was abruptly shattered in the third week of the voyage by a piercing and ominous alarm.

"Warning! High-intensity energy reaction detected! An unidentified fleet is conducting a high-speed intercept jump in the star system ahead!"

Chapter 35 The Steel Hand (Bonus Chapter 7)

On the bridge, all the mortal officers on duty, assigned to Hector by the Legion of Word Bearers, instantly went into combat mode.

"Activate Void Shield! All weapon systems online! Identify the target!"

Hector slowly opened his eyes, his dark pupils showing no sign of panic. He simply raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the warship's thick armor, looking towards the deep, seemingly empty universe.

Almost simultaneously, the space ahead seemed to be violently torn apart by an invisible hand! Twisted and violent cracks appeared out of thin air! Immediately afterwards, more than a dozen huge, ferocious warships, exuding a cold industrial aura, roared out of the cracks like steel behemoths that had broken free from hell!

It was neither the piety of the Word Bearers' fleet nor the splendor of the Sons of a Thousand Wounds. These warships were less like "ships" and more like mobile "anvils" endowed with the ability to navigate through the void. The hulls were painted a deep, unreflective black, devoid of any superfluous decorations, featuring only heavy armor, menacing cannon muzzles, and welding scars left by countless self-modifications—cold and rational, carrying an almost obsessive chilling aura. What they exuded was not the glory of war, but the purest hatred for the concept of "flesh and blood."

The Tenth Legion, the Iron Hand!

"What...what are they trying to do?" The captain's shocked voice rang out in the bridge. "We've already sent out identification signals! Why...are they still maintaining their attack formation?"

A flicker of confusion and unease about this extreme "materialism" also flashed through the logic engine of the Sage Alcan. 'Flesh and blood are bitter and weak' was one of the tenets of the Mechanicus, but what this fleet was showing had transcended reason, evolving into a pure hatred of flesh and blood, a fanaticism that was almost self-denying.

The moment the black fleet completed its jump, it rapidly approached the "Seeker" in a perfectly wedge formation, exuding an oppressive aura! The muzzles of thousands of macro cannons flashed with an ominous, charging red light!

"Warning! The enemy's fire control system has locked onto our ship!"

"Are they insane! Attacking a ship bearing the insignia of the Imperial Regent's Envoy?!"

At this critical moment, a dignified, cold communication request with a heavy metallic feel forcefully entered the bridge of the "Seeker".

As the holographic projection unfolded, a gigantic figure appeared before everyone's eyes.

That was a being with a more "steel" aura than any Space Marine Hector had ever seen.

He was clad in unpainted, gleaming power armor, with one side of his face covered by a metal mask, while the other side, exposed, was as cold and hard as a marble sculpture.

But what's most striking are his hands.

It was not a body of flesh and blood, but a pair of huge and ferocious steel hands made of flowing and gleaming living metal.

The Primarch of the Tenth Legion, the Lord of Steel who revered "flesh and blood as the ultimate truth," Ferrus Manus.

"A ship from the Legion of Word Bearers."

Felus's voice wasn't simply transmitted through the communication channel; it was more like the resonance of his will within the metal structure of the bridge. Like two giant anvils colliding, heavy, cold, and devoid of emotion, it caused the runic lights illuminating the bridge to dim for a moment. His gaze swept over the mortal officers who stood ready for battle, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt.

“I received a ‘special marking’ from Terra regarding your ship. The marking indicates that you are carrying a group of… unauthorized, dangerous ‘unbound psionicists’.” His gaze finally settled on the thirty guards who remained standing still, his contempt turning into naked disgust. “Based on Imperial law and the ruling of the Nicaea Council, I, Ferus Manus, have the right to ‘inspect’ you.”

Hector's heart sank slightly.

He knew trouble was coming.

This must be the work of Eribas! Even though he himself has been imprisoned by Lorgar, his spies planted throughout the Empire are still at work! Unable to directly harm him, he used the Empire's strictest laws and the hand of the most "just and impartial" Primarch to set up this deadly trap for himself!

“We are special envoys of the Imperial Regent,” Hector said calmly, rising to his feet and walking to the holographic projection.

“I will naturally obey the Regent’s orders.” Ferrus’s gaze shifted to Hector, his eyes like tangible probes, coldly scrutinizing him from the very core. “But the Regent’s orders cannot supersede the Emperor’s laws. Now, open the hatches and allow my Iron Father to board and inspect these ‘abnormalities.’ Otherwise, my fleet will personally ‘open’ them for you.”

His words left no room for negotiation.

"Open the hatch," Hector calmly ordered the captain beside him.

He knew all too well that any resistance would only lead to destruction. Compared to a Primarch and his entire fleet, the cruiser was as insignificant as dust.

Soon, a somber-looking black landing craft detached from the steel-armed flagship and slowly docked with the Seeker.

The hatch opened, and out stepped three “monsters” who even made the Sage Alkan utter a low, trembling sound…

They are the Iron Fathers of the Iron Hand, unique beings who combine the roles of a technical sergeant, apothecary, and priest. Their bodies have long been replaced by numerous mechanical prosthetics, and their bodies are connected to a dense array of data cables and analysis modules. Their eyes gleam with a cold red light representing pure logic.

The leading steel priest carried a huge metal box filled with probes and shackles. Ignoring Hector, he walked straight to the thirty guards and took out a heavy shackle made of adamantite and runes.

“Target confirmed. An individual with an anomalous bio-energy field not recorded in the Imperial records.” His voice was even colder than Alkan’s electronic tone. “According to Article 7 of the Nicaea Code, the target will be pre-installed with ‘Soul Shackles’ for subsequent review.”

Before he finished speaking, he extended his mechanical arm and tried to force the shackles onto the neck of the leading Daoist guard.

However, just as the cold metal was about to touch his skin, Dao Wei's body subtly sank. He remained in a standing posture, but in that instant, he seemed to become one with the deck beneath his feet, with the entire warship!

Supernatural power—Immovable as a mountain!

"Zi-ga-"

The steel priest's mechanical arm abruptly stopped less than a finger's width from Dao Wei's neck! The powerful servo motor, capable of tearing through armor, emitted a piercing shriek! The power level displayed in the mechanical eye instantly soared to the warning limit! Yet that flesh and blood body remained as immovable as an ancient sacred mountain rooted in the foundation of the universe!

Chapter 36 Feralus's Disdain (Bonus Chapter 8)

Hector's voice wasn't loud, but it resonated clearly throughout the entire bridge.

The steel priest paused slightly, then slowly turned his head, his prosthetic eyes flashing red as he stared at the mortal blocking his way.

"Mortal, are you questioning my authority?"

“I am not questioning your authority, Father Steel,” Hector said calmly. “I am simply stating a fact. They are not psionicists.”

“Our scanners don’t make mistakes,” Father Steel said coldly. “Each of them possesses an ordered and controllable bio-energy field that far exceeds the standard values ​​of ordinary people. This is the definition of ‘psychic energy’.”

"Then, sir," Hector said, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips, "a star undergoing controlled nuclear fusion and a plasma reactor about to explode are both releasing energy. But do you consider them the same thing?"

The steel priest's logical engine seemed to freeze for a moment because of this metaphor.

Hector didn't give him more time to think, and continued, "The energy within them doesn't come from the warp. On the contrary, their very existence 'purifies' the warp. Their 'aura' is an 'anti-psychic', orderly realm. If you don't believe me, you can...feel it for yourself."

After saying this, Hector nodded slightly to the thirty Dao Guards.

The thirty Dao Guards opened their eyes simultaneously.

"boom--!!!"

An invisible, cold will, filled with "deathly silence" and "hatred," suddenly swept across the entire bridge like an extreme cold storm that erupted in an instant!

That wasn't psychic energy, but something purer and more terrifying! It was the "killing intent" formed from the condensation and tempering of all the pain, hatred, and despair of thirty souls who had once possessed everything and then lost everything... enough to freeze any mind!

The three powerful steel priests, their cold, mechanical bodies, modified countless times, trembled uncontrollably the moment they came into contact with this will! A string of rapidly flashing error codes, representing a "warning," appeared in the mechanical eyes that were flashing red!

Their logic engines were churning frantically, trying to define this unprecedented mental shock, but ultimately they could only reach one conclusion—

Threat Level: Extremely High!

"Unknown mental attack! Not psionic! Not chaotic! Origin... unknown!"

"I recommend... an immediate... retreat!"

In the holographic projection, for the first time, a look of shock and rage appeared on Feralus Manus's face, which was as sculpted as steel.

What did he see?

A group of ordinary people, with just their "willpower," made his most elite and steel-willed priest, the Iron Father, feel "threatened"?

This is the most direct and glaring mockery of his theory of "flesh and blood being weak and suffering"!

A metallic roar, as powerful as a mountain collapsing and the earth splitting, boomed from the holographic projection, instantly overwhelming the chilling killing intent!

Feralus Manus, the Primarch known for his tenacity and stubbornness, was truly enraged.

"I don't care what tricks you've used." His voice was cold enough to freeze stars. "In my eyes, any power that cannot be measured with calipers or defined by logic is 'witchcraft'! You package the fragility of flesh and blood as so-called 'will' and take pride in it, which is a weakness that must be eradicated!"