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

“Very good.” Macardo slowly placed the pawn down, and the piece stood firmly on the table. His eyes, which seemed to hold tens of thousands of years of human history, gazed intently at Hector. “On the chessboard, for a pawn to gain influence, it must go through countless hardships. Now, let’s see just how deep your roots are.”

As soon as he finished speaking, an invisible yet powerful spiritual storm suddenly erupted in the room without warning!

This was not simply a psionic pressure, but a mental purgatory personally guided by Macardo, a causal interrogation directly targeting Hector himself.

Countless distorted and insane illusions instantly appeared before Hector's eyes.

He saw that on the warship called "Words of Loyalty," Logar Aurelion, his eyes bleeding, held aloft a stone tablet inscribed with the Heart Sutra, uttering the most vicious curse at him: "It was you! It was you who stole my last faith with this void! You made me lose even the foundation of hatred!" Then, his body exploded, transforming into a huge rift leading to the abyss of chaos.

The scene shifts again, and he finds himself once more in the burning Library of Prospero. Magnus, the Crimson King, pierced by a battle axe, his single eye burning, stares intently at Hector, letting out a desperate roar: "Why didn't you tell me sooner! Before the well was even dug, everything I had was reduced to ashes!"

Then, on the throne of the Vengeful Spirit, Horus, now utterly corrupted, smiled and gently crushed the tranquility talisman stained black by chaos: "Thank you for your gift, little walker. It is this that has shown me how laughable tranquility is in the face of true power."

This storm was no longer a test of his defenses, but was tearing at his Dao heart, forcing him to confront the karma he had sown, and trying to make him believe that all he had brought was destruction.

It is enough to make any firm will collapse in an instant.

However, Hector simply stood there quietly.

He did not build any mental barriers because he knew that defense was meaningless in the face of someone like Makado.

He simply opened up a domain slowly.

A realm that is formless, without substance, without light or darkness, and absolutely silent.

A violent mental storm crashed in like waves, but the moment it touched the edge, it surged into the desert like a torrent, silently swallowing up all the madness and malice.

There was no collision, and no flash.

It simply... disappeared.

Makado's body trembled slightly, and an undisguised shock appeared in his ancient eyes.

This is not a confrontation.

Rather, it represents a higher level of inclusiveness and resolution.

After the foundation was established, the vast true essence continuously supported this domain, allowing it to stand firmly in the storm, as immovable as a mountain.

Chapter 45 Solar Arsenal

"It seems that your 'roots' are indeed very deep."

After a long while, Makado slowly withdrew the mental storm, his tone revealing a hint of approval that even he himself was unaware of.

“However,” he changed the subject, “a tree needs more than just deep roots; it also needs strong enough branches to withstand the storms of reality.”

He nodded slightly toward the shadows in the room.

A tall figure, like a golden mountain, silently emerged from the shadows.

He wore a relatively simple set of Imperial Guard power armor, devoid of any ornamentation. The armor was covered with fine scratches, each one telling a story of a war buried by time. He wore no helmet, revealing a face as cold and stern as an ancient sculpture, upon which the marks of time and majesty seemed to have silently solidified. His eyes were deep and calm, like a cold lake that had witnessed countless sunrises and sunsets.

“Aurelius,” Maccardo said, “is the old instructor of the Imperial Guard, and also your examiner for your next test.”

Hector could sense that the pure golden "aura" emanating from this person was extremely condensed, almost tangible. It was not merely power, but a state of being that elevated combat to a higher realm.

“Child,” Marcus Aurelius began, his voice low and steady, devoid of emotion yet exuding an oppressive air of absolute confidence, “The Regent has ordered me to test your combat abilities. The rules are simple—”

Before he finished speaking, his enormous body vanished!

In the next instant, an extremely sharp gust of wind had already reached Hector! Aurelius's fist, clad in a power gauntlet, aimed straight for Hector's chest with a speed beyond the limits of vision!

Fast! Almost impossible to catch!

However, just as the fist was about to hit his body, Hector's body, in an almost illogical way, lightly floated half a step to the side and back.

They barely avoided the fatal blow.

A slight surprise flashed across Aurelius's eyes. He hadn't expected this mortal to be able to keep up with his almost casual strike.

But his movements didn't stop. Before he could retract his fist, his other hand had already become a blur, aiming straight for Hector's throat!

Hector's eyes darted around in a series of judgments. He could detect the opponent's muscle exertion, predict the next move, and his internal energy surged wildly.

But he could only barely raise his arm to block.

With a muffled thud, his arm felt as if it had struck a moving mountain! A terrifying force surged through him instantly, sending him flying backward and crashing heavily into the alloy wall with a piercing sound!

"Cough..." Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, and his arms were numb, it was unclear whether his bones were fractured.

"Your reaction was passable, but your strength was barely adequate." Aurelius withdrew his hand, his tone calm. "But your technique... was utterly terrible."

Hector pushed himself up, realizing that the other party's judgment was correct. Although he possessed the power of Foundation Establishment, he was like a child wielding a divine weapon, not knowing how to control it, and his movements were superfluous and ineffective.

“Interesting.” Aurelius’s gaze held a hint of scrutiny befitting an instructor. “But in this universe that only believes in war, a philosophy that cannot be translated into killing and protection is ultimately just empty talk.”

“The Emperor’s judgment is correct.” Macado stepped forward and stood in front of Hector. “Your soul is strong enough, but just like the problem in your alchemy, your ‘vessel’ is still fragile and too crude.”

Hector was shocked. He hadn't expected that the Regent knew so much about the details of his alchemy, even the key bottlenecks.

But he quickly came to terms with it. For someone at the heart of imperial power, this was not unexpected.

Macardo handed a data panel to Hector.

"By order of the Emperor, from this day forward, you will follow Marcus Aurelius into the Imperial Guard's Sun Armory for a six-month period of military training."

"The Solar Arsenal?" Hector was slightly taken aback.

“That was no ordinary arsenal,” Macado said, his tone now tinged with awe for that great being.

"That is the Emperor's comprehensive collection of philosophies and techniques of combat, gathered from tens of thousands of lost human civilizations during the Great Expedition. It contains everything from the most primitive hand-to-hand combat to the use of advanced energy weapons; from personal assassination to the art of war for commanding billions of troops..."

"The Emperor originally intended to find a 'perfect battle strategy' for the Imperial Guard and his sons from this," he said meaningfully. "But in the end, these brilliant ideas were sealed away because they were not efficient enough. In this dark universe, the most efficient thing is always the purest killing."

Hector was deeply shaken, instantly understanding the true value of the armory and the Emperor's profound meaning.

This is not just a training exercise, but also a test of the "Tao".

The emperor wanted to see whether his path, which emphasized balance and harmony, would be swallowed up by the tens of thousands of combat philosophies that only pursued efficiency and destruction, or whether it could forge its own path.

"The Emperor... is also watching you."

Makado looked at him with deep expectation in his eyes.

"Go, let your 'path' possess a 'sword' sufficient to protect itself."

Chapter 46 Seventeen Thousand Ways to Fail

As Hector Kane's figure, along with the silent, mountain-like Imperial Guard instructor Marcus Aurelius, disappeared into the deep shadows of Macado's room, the Imperial Regent slowly returned to his rustic wooden table.

He picked up the ivory chess piece he had named "Pawn" again, and with his withered, age-spotted fingers, gently moved it forward one square on the chessboard.

"The game has begun."

He murmured to himself, his eyes, which seemed to see through the long river of time, flickering with a complex expression that no one could understand, a mixture of expectation and a faint sadness, "I hope that this little soldier can really do as you and I wish, and walk a path that no one has ever set foot on before."

Macado gazed in a certain direction deep within the palace and murmured:

"Perhaps it is a path that has been walked by those who came before us... but which we have lost."

The training ground Hector entered was not the one he had imagined. There were no roaring fighter jets, no flashing energy shields, and no gladiatorial pit filled with sweat and blood.

He felt as if he had entered a... tomb.

A silent mausoleum that buries tens of thousands of civilized "martial spirits".

This is the legendary "Solar Arsenal".

It lies deep beneath the Imperial Palace, a forbidden zone even most of the Imperial Guard are forbidden to tread. There are no guards here, for the magnificent gate, a hundred meters high and crafted from an unknown silver metal, is itself the most impregnable defense. Inscribed on the gate are protective runes personally placed by the Emperor; any unauthorized, malicious entity that approaches will have its soul purified by the light of order the instant it comes near.

When Oleus lightly touched the intricate emblem at the center of the gate with his golden power gauntlet, the gate slid silently open to both sides with a low hum that sounded like the sigh of the stars.

The scene behind the door stirred a ripple in Hector's Dao heart, which had become clearer due to his Foundation Establishment.

This is an endless, suspended in the void... a bookshelf of light.

Countless enormous pillars of pure light, like the World Tree supporting the universe, stood silently in this absolute darkness and deathly stillness. Each pillar of light had a waterfall-like flow of data on its surface, and these flows were composed of "memory fragments" sealed within crystal prisms.

Here, there are no paper books, no data boards. What is collected here is memory, philosophy, and the Way.

"Welcome to... the graveyard of losers."

Marcus Aurelius's voice echoed in the deathly silence, carrying a subtle, complex meaning.

"Here lies the complete collection of combat philosophies and techniques that the Emperor gathered from 17,000 lost human civilizations during the Great Crusade." He extended his golden power gauntlets, pointing to the nearest beam of light.

Hector followed his gaze and saw a series of dynamic images sealed within the crystal prism: a group of warriors with spiral tattoos covering their skin and bulging muscles, mimicking the movements of giant carapace-like creatures in the red desert, practicing a powerful and explosive unarmed combat technique. Their punches and kicks seemed to resonate in sync with the earth.

“This is the ‘Divine Form Fist’ from the Sandworm Dynasty,” Aurelius said calmly. “They believed that by imitating the form of the strongest creature in the universe, they could gain its power. Their elite warriors could even tear apart the power armor of Orks with their bare hands. But their civilization ultimately collapsed in isolation and internal strife because it could not adapt to long-term interstellar travel.”

He then pointed to another, thinner, and brighter beam of light. Within it, a group of assassins, clad in black, form-fitting suits, moved like phantoms, carrying out silent assassinations in a world where steel and neon hues intertwined. The high-frequency blades in their hands could slice through thick alloys without triggering alarms.

“This is the ‘Shadowless Sword’ from the City of Night.” Marcus Aurelius’s tone remained calm. “They elevated assassination to a philosophy, believing that the most efficient battle was one that ended before it even began. But their civilization, ultimately consumed by intrigue and betrayal, lost trust and was utterly destroyed by a seemingly insignificant lie.”

“And them…” Aurelius’s gaze swept across the boundless forest of light, “The ‘Psionic Resonance’ from the Crystal City could connect the wills of all warriors, forming a shield powerful enough to deflect the main cannons of a starship, but ultimately, due to a mistake, the souls of the entire race were devoured by warp behemoths.”

"The 'Logical War Formation' from the Iron Duchy treats war as a mathematical formula, precisely calculating the trajectory and path of every strike. However, they ultimately lost their heads to a group of barbarians with battle axes because they could not calculate the variable of 'fear'."

Marcus Aurelius slowly turned around, his eyes, as cold as a lake, fixed on Hector.

“Do you see this, child? Here are seventeen thousand kinds of ‘perfection’. Each one was once regarded as truth, as the ultimate answer to victory, but in the end, they all failed.”

“Because, in this dark universe where there is only war,” his voice was low and slow, “any path that is not pure enough, not efficient enough, not absolute enough, is a dead end.”

"The Emperor used to come here every day for a whole century. He tried to find a truly perfect battle strategy for us and his sons from these failed 'perfections'. But in the end, he gave up and never set foot here again."

"Because he understands that the most perfect battle strategy is only one—"

Chapter 47 The Shortest Straight Punch

Aurelius slowly gripped his golden power gauntlet.

"The straight punch is the shortest."

"With greater power, stronger armor, and faster speed, wipe the enemy off the face of the universe before they can kill you. There is no other way."

Hector fell silent. He could sense that within this "Solar Arsenal," all those brilliant yet long-dormant martial arts philosophies were shrouded in an inescapable sense of sorrow—the shadow of "defeat."

He finally understood the Emperor's true intention in sending him here.

This is not just a training session, but also a test.

The emperor wants to see whether he will be swallowed up by these tens of thousands of martial arts systems that only talk about "efficiency" and "killing", or whether he can... forge his own path.

"Now, let's begin." Aurelius pointed to the only empty black metal circular platform in the center of the Forest of Light. "Over the next six months, I will teach you the most basic 'battle tactics' of the Imperial Guard. And you, you need to find a way to keep your 'philosophy' alive in this graveyard of losers."

“Otherwise,” his voice was not threatening, but merely a statement, “you, and your ‘Tao,’ may one day become the seventeen thousand and first collection here.”

Over the next six months, Hector Kane underwent a near-hellish ordeal of physical training that he had never imagined in either of his two lifetimes.

Marcus Aurelius, a living legend, was among the first members of the "Brigade of Ten Thousand Men".

He had witnessed the Emperor's final battle against the most terrifying alien overlord on the moon; he had also stood silently beside the throne, witnessing the untold tragedy of the two lost Primarchs.

His loyalty to the Emperor was as unbreakable as Terra beneath his feet. But precisely because of this, a trace of sorrow, which he himself was unaware of, remained buried deep within his heart regarding the Emperor's almost cold-blooded "instrumentalism."

His method of teaching Hector followed the principle of "straight punches are the shortest," and was simple and brutal.

He never explains the theory, he only... "provides the moves".

On the first day, he used only one finger to make Hector fall thousands of times. “Your ‘immobility’,” he calmly commented, “is just a large rock in the face of true power, not even a ‘mountain’.”

The next day, he allowed Hector to attack his power armor, but forbade him to use any weapons. “Don’t try to be clever,” he said coldly. “You’re trying to cut the ‘roots’ of evil, but you’ve forgotten that when evil itself is a towering tree, the only thing you can do is use even greater force to uproot it.”

Hector was knocked down time and time again. He possessed the true essence of the Foundation Establishment realm, but he was like a child holding a divine weapon, completely clueless about how to wield it. Every parry, every dodge, seemed superfluous and a waste of energy in the face of Aurelius's precise and efficient attacks.

After enduring a month of almost complete beatings that left him with little chance of fighting back, his fortunes finally turned around.

During this time, he did not sit idly. Every day, he dragged his battered body toward those silent pillars of light. He no longer merely "watched," but used his newly established divine sense to "touch" those sealed memories, to experience those seventeen thousand kinds of failed "perfections."

He felt the ultimate in "hardness" in the Sandworm Dynasty's "Divine Form Fist," but also clearly saw its drawback of being too rigid and easily broken; he comprehended the pinnacle of "softness" in the Night City's "Shadowless Sword," but also saw its weakness of being unsustainable. He observed thousands of combat techniques, each of which collapsed because it went to extremes.

An idea gradually became clear.

"The root of all failures is imbalance."

He recalled the Tai Chi Embracing the Origin method he had taught Daowei, realizing that his true foundation was "Taoism." No matter how much cultural nourishment he absorbed in the future, the spirit represented by the Tao Te Ching would always be his fundamental essence.

The same applies to force.

Hector no longer confined himself to imitation, but instead took Tai Chi as his foundation, transcending specific techniques and elevating it to a concept of "balance." "The body is the bow, the fist is the arrow, the mind is the spirit..." The old man's whisper seemed to transcend time and space, intertwining with the lamentations of countless broken souls.