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

He didn't elaborate much, but simply projected Hector's already distributed theoretical report on the "Way of Silence" onto the center of the round table.

“I’m sure you’ve all already read this report,” Makado said calmly. “Its core idea is to propose a completely new method—not relying on ‘soul binding,’ but guiding psionicists to self-control through ‘introspection’ and ‘discipline.’ I’d like to hear your opinions.”

A brief silence fell over the hall.

The first to speak was the Chief Minister of the Executive Yuan. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief and, in his usual smooth, bureaucratic tone, said:

"Your Excellency, this report... well... it is indeed imaginative. But its feasibility, if I may be so bold, is highly questionable. 'Dao Heart,' 'True Essence,' 'Meditation'... these concepts cannot be quantified, recorded, or archived. The Executive Yuan cannot allocate imperial resources for a system based on 'feelings'."

"I second the motion."

The Chief Justice of the Ministry of Law immediately spoke, his voice dry, as if turning the pages of an ancient tome: "Law is based on 'quantifiability' and 'enforceability.' The 'tranquility' and 'Dao heart' mentioned in the report lack clear judicial definitions. May I ask the advisor, does 'tranquility' mean that the fluctuation of true essence is below 0.1 Hz? Or that the soul spectrum is maintained within a specific range? Without a quantitative standard accurate to three decimal places, any ruling based on this will constitute a desecration of the imperial legal principles. This theory is less a draft of a legal code and more a... non-compliant collection of philosophical poems."

Their opposition was expected by Hector.

However, the real storm has only just begun.

A cold, mocking voice came from the direction of Lucius Vero.

He slowly "raised his head," his face, covered by a black cloth, facing Hector.

“No, Your Honor, you are mistaken.” Vero’s voice was low, yet it struck the very soul of everyone present. “This is not even a collection of poems. This is a suicide declaration draped in ornate language!”

As soon as he finished speaking, a cold, suffocating psionic pressure instantly enveloped the entire hall!

"'Introspection'? 'Discipline'? What naive, what ridiculous words!" His voice trembled slightly with suppressed anger. "You who have never truly gazed into the abyss have no idea what you are talking about!"

"Let me tell you what that is!" He suddenly stretched out his withered finger, pointing it directly at Hector. "That's the sea! An endless ocean made of madness and despair! And every psionicist is just a poor child standing on the shore! And you, you actually want to teach this child not to build dikes, not to put shackles, but to rely on his ridiculous 'will' to command the sea not to stir up trouble?"

"I, Lucius Vero, swear by the more than seven million soul torches ignited by 'out of control' in the Starspeaker Hall over the past thousand years, and by the final cries of every comrade I have personally 'purified'!" His voice was mournful yet impassioned, the gray-black aura of resentment almost solidifying. "Any attempt to loosen the shackles of this beast is the cruelest desecration of the dead! Any psychic energy not 'soul-bound' is a bomb on a countdown! We have no choice! Heretics must be utterly and mercilessly purified!"

His words struck like a heavy hammer, hitting the hearts of every attendee hard. The weight of those lessons learned from countless painful experiences far outweighed any rational argument.

The atmosphere in the hall suddenly became extremely tense.

All eyes turned once again to the ordinary boy who had remained silent throughout.

They are waiting—waiting for him to respond to this ultimate question from his archenemy, forged in blood and soul.

Chapter 51 Psionic Experiment Confrontation

Inside the Hall of the Scales of Truth, Chief Astrologer Lucius Verona's ultimate question, filled with blood and tears, weighed heavily on the hearts of every attendee like an invisible mountain built from seven million torches of souls.

The bureaucrats from the Executive Yuan and the Ministry of Law subconsciously moved back, trying to get away from the eerie, resentful aura emanating from Vero.

They may not understand the true mysteries of psychic energy, but they can clearly feel that powerful, irrefutable will that is capable of distorting reality.

In their eyes, Hector Kane's "poetic" proposal seemed so pale and powerless in the face of such a bloody accusation.

However, to everyone's surprise, the ordinary boy standing in the center of the round table did not show the slightest panic when faced with this questioning that was like a final judgment.

His posture remained straight, and his expression remained calm, as if Vero's soul-ravaging roar, which could make the stars tremble, was nothing more than a gust of wind passing by the window or a bird's song echoing in the forest.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze piercing through the cold ocean formed by the pressure of psychic energy, and quietly looked at the old man whose eyes were covered by a black cloth.

"Lord Vero."

Hector spoke, his voice clear and steady, like a spring that gently dispelled the suffocating oppression in the hall.

"What you said is all correct."

These words caused an uproar throughout the room. Even the usually composed Makado showed a barely perceptible flicker in his ancient eyes.

“Every word you speak is a lesson learned in blood, etched with the scars of the Empire. Psionic power is indeed a raging ocean, capable of devouring everything. And untrained psionicists are indeed like children standing on the shore, fragile and ignorant.”

Hector readily acknowledged the other party's premise, which ironically left Vero's prepared and fierce rebuttal stuck in his throat.

“But,” Hector’s tone shifted.

“Your proposed ‘soul bond’ has indeed built the highest and strongest dam for this sea. It can stop tsunamis, but it also isolates us from all the gifts of the ocean—ships cannot set sail, routes cannot be opened, and we can only cower in the shadow of the dam, praying day and night that it will not collapse under the endless erosion.”

“My ‘way of silence’ is not intended to dismantle this dam.”

Hector's voice grew clearer and firmer, like the clash of metal, echoing in everyone's heart.

"On the contrary, I want to open up a completely new sea route for the Empire outside the dikes, a true road to the sea."

"We shouldn't just think about keeping children confined to the shore forever, but rather teach them how to read the wind and waves, how to repair sails, how to read star charts, and ultimately, how to become navigators who can ride the storm!"

He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping across the room—pausing over the bloated Minister of State, settling on the gaunt Chief Justice, and finally returning to Vero.

"'Soul binding' is using fear to rule fear, and the result is the creation of more 'living tools' like your Star Speakers, whose souls have long since withered. They are stable, but also fragile, because they have lost the most precious asset of being a 'human being'—the possibility of growth."

"The 'Way of Silence,' on the other hand, guides power with wisdom. It teaches not suppression, but guidance; not prohibition, but balance. It aims to cultivate not tools, but true individuals capable of paving the way for the empire and exploring the unknown!"

Vero finally seized the opportunity to retaliate. He turned to Hector with his face covered by a black cloth, his voice as cold as a vacuum.

"Your words are eloquent, but how can you guarantee that your 'navigators' won't be torn apart by storms on the very first day they set foot on the sea? How can you ensure that your ethereal 'wisdom' can withstand the most vicious erosion of the warp? What makes you think you can? Your 'collection of poems' that you dug out of some ruins?"

“Lord Vero, the Dao needs no guarantee; it is only responsible for its presentation.”

Hector's tone remained calm.

"Debate can never measure the depth of the ocean; only by sailing it yourself can. Rather than arguing about theories, it is better to observe reality."

"Since words cannot convince each other, let the facts make the judgment."

Hector turned and bowed slightly toward the deepest shadow of the hall, toward the Imperial Regent who sat on the invisible throne.

"Your Excellency, I implore you to conduct an 'experimental confrontation'."

His voice resonated powerfully in this hall that symbolized the highest legal principles of the empire.

That calm tone, however, was like a stubborn rock falling into a deep pool, instantly shattering the psionic oppression that Vero had built with fear and sorrow, making everyone present feel relieved, as if they had escaped from an invisible nightmare.

"Let Lord Vero and I each select students from the same group of untrained wild psionicists. He will use the 'soul binding' technique, passed down for thousands of years in the Star Language Hall, to forge his unbreakable dam; while I will use the 'way of silence' to teach my students to weave their own sails."

"Three months later, we will return here. Let the facts tell the committee, and the entire empire, which path is the true future of humanity."

The entire hall fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone was utterly shocked by the almost insane suggestion of this mortal boy.

An advisor of unknown origin dares to launch a high-stakes gamble concerning the empire's national policy in the Hall of the Scales of Truth against the highest leader of the Star Language Hall?

Beneath Lucius Verona's black-bound eyes, a cruel and gleeful smirk slowly crept onto his lips. He had been worrying about how to rightfully crush this heretic, but the man had personally delivered his head to the guillotine.

“I accept.” His voice was deep and resolute, as if he could already see the outcome. “But to ensure the absolute fairness of this ‘trial,’ the trainees must be provided by the most neutral and ruthless organization.”

His head turned slightly toward the other side of the shadow.

“I request that the Sisters of Silence send their black warships to bring us the latest batch of ‘cargo’: the most dangerous, most unstable, and closest to ‘critical’ wild psionicists. Only in the face of such a sample will any sweet talk have nowhere to hide.”

Marcado's ancient eyes lingered between Hector and Vero for a moment before he finally nodded gently.

Chapter 52 Selecting Experimental Subjects

A week later, in Terra's low Earth orbit, a black interstellar space station, codenamed "Static Prison," which is not open to the public.

This is one of the core strongholds of the Silent Sisters, and also the first line of defense for the Empire in dealing with the most dangerous psychics.

The walls of the space station were forged from a special material mixed with black rock and some unknown alloy, capable of absorbing and suppressing psionic fluctuations to the greatest extent. A cold and gloomy aura permeated the air, as if one were in a timeless tomb.

It wasn't just a simple silence, but a stripping away of "existence itself." Hector could clearly perceive that the faint connection between himself and the warp had been forcibly severed, as if he had suddenly become completely psionicly deaf and blind.

For psykers, this is not silence, but "deafness." It is the torture of suddenly throwing ears accustomed to listening to the whispers of the universe into an absolute vacuum; it is the suffocation of being, who has long relied on the soul for breathing, suddenly having their throats choked. In the cage, some weak-willed psykers have begun to frantically scratch their temples, their spirits on the verge of collapse due to this sudden emptiness, amidst silent screams.

However, Hector experienced a rare clarity.

The clamor of the external subspace was completely blocked out, making the ever-flowing ocean of true essence within his body appear even more real and clear. The circulation of the Small Heavenly Circuit was like the most precise star orbit in the universe; with each turn, it resonated with a low murmur of order deep within his soul.

To others, this place is a prison that deprives them of all spiritual senses; but to his self-contained microcosm, it is nothing more than an absolutely quiet room, a place where he can hear his own "heartbeat" more clearly.

As Hector stepped into the core area of ​​the space station, led by a silent nun clad in dark silver power armor and as still as a stone statue, he saw his "students" on this journey.

They were rows of transparent cages made of force fields, suspended in the cold, desolate space.

Inside the cage, dozens of humans of various appearances were imprisoned.

They were the "newest batch of goods" that Vero had mentioned.

Each of them is like a psionic bomb that could explode at any moment.

A frail young girl huddled in the corner of the cage, trembling violently with uncontrollable fear. Frost was forming visibly around her, a manifestation of her out-of-control psychokinesis. She repeatedly whispered in a dialect Hector had never heard before, a dialect filled with ancient terror: "Don't look at me...monster...don't look at me..."

In another cage lay a young man with a physique as robust as a bear. His body was covered in battle markings symbolizing power and glory, but his arms were now tightly bound by thick energy shackles. His eyes were bloodshot, and suppressed growls emanated from his throat. With each breath, scorching, acrid sparks spewed from his nostrils, mingled with the smell of sulfur. A raging ball of fiery psionic energy, filled with destructive lust, swirled wildly around him.

And there's more... A noble boy on the verge of collapse because he can hear the darkest thoughts of others, a gambler who unconsciously distorts probability and plunges everything around him into chaos, a gardener in a garden world who uses his singing to trigger the abnormal proliferation of biological cells...

They are cancer cells that have sprung up on the vast body of the Empire due to random genetic mutations. They are walking calamities, the perfect key to the demons of the warp.

“Please make your selection, Mr. Advisor,” Lucius Vero’s voice came from behind Hector.

He had arrived here at some point, surrounded by several high-ranking members of the Star Language Hall who also exuded a chilling aura.

“Oh, right, according to the agreement, I get to choose first.” Vero’s tone was laced with undisguised arrogance. He didn’t even use his psychic powers; he simply raised his withered finger and casually pointed at a few cages.

“I’ll take that gardener. And that one that can distort probability, hmm, very interesting. And this one…” His fingertips finally stopped on the noble boy, “…the one that can eavesdrop on people’s thoughts, perfect for being honed into the ‘tools’ we need.”

"To avoid putting the consultant in a difficult position, I'll take this opportunity to lighten your burden a bit, haha."

Those he chose were invariably individuals with bizarre, outward-flowing, and dangerous powers. It was as if only by taming the most ferocious beasts could he prove his identity as a "beast tamer."

In fact, these cases of psychic energy out of control are precisely the subjects of the Star Language Hall's most thorough research, with a wealth of readily available records of how they were handled. And those seemingly ordinary, reserved psychics are often the ones with deeper, more untamed cores.

“Very good.” Vero turned around, a victor’s smile on his face. “The rest of these ‘defective products’ are yours, Advisor Kane. Good luck.”

Having said that, he turned and left, accompanied by Sister Silent, heading towards the Star Language Hall's hellish "Soul Furnace." Before leaving, he didn't even glance at Hector again, only adding contemptuously to the air, "Remember to take care of your trash, Advisor. Don't let their wailing affect my experiments."

Hector did not respond.

His gaze swept calmly over the souls that trembled and cowered in fear and despair.

Then, he activated his Qi Observation Technique.

In an instant, the world before my eyes transformed once again into a scene composed of "qi".

He saw that the psionicists chosen by Vero, though possessing great power, had a mixed and chaotic appearance, like a polluted turbid stream, strange and restless, yet not reaching the source.

The remaining "defective products," though their "qi" is weak, exhibit a completely different essence—

Their psychic energy has become ingrained in their very bones and taken root in their souls.

"So they left all the tough stuff to me," Hector chuckled to himself. "Well, that's fine, saves me the trouble."

His gaze first fell on the girl who was trembling with fear, making the air feel frosty.

Beneath that layer of cold, gray aura formed from fear, deep within her soul, burned an extremely faint yet incredibly pure golden light.

That light carried connotations of "protection" and "sacrifice." It was as if her loss of control was not for the purpose of causing harm, but rather stemmed from some kind of instinctive defense—using coldness as a shield to separate herself from the world, both as an escape and as a form of protection.

“The light of protection…” Hector murmured.

Then, he looked at the barbarian youth who was as agitated as a trapped beast.

Within that crimson core of malevolent energy, constructed from destruction and rage, lies a discordant presence.

It was a black, iron-colored aura, as resilient as iron forged through countless hammer blows, shimmering with a tenacious and stubborn light. There was no ecstasy in that aura, only resistance and disgust—it was not indulging in destruction, but hating the out-of-control version of itself.

"The heart of a warrior..."

Hector's lips slowly curved into a slight smile.

He walked toward the two cages.

Then, a strange scene unfolded—the chilling aura surrounding the girl, strong enough to freeze steel, melted away silently like spring snow meeting the sun when it came within a foot of him; and the blazing flames beside the young man, strong enough to ignite the air, were forced to deflect and extinguish when they touched his invisible aura. He seemed to be in a world of his own, isolated from the outside world.

He calmly addressed the silent nun in charge of escorting him:

"I'll take both of them."

The Silent Sister's eyes flickered slightly beneath her helmet, almost imperceptibly. She seemed unable to comprehend why this mortal would choose these two individuals with the most severe problems and the deepest spiritual corruption.

But she didn't question it; she simply silently dispelled the force field of the cage.

The moment the force field dissipated, the girl let out a suppressed scream and shrank even tighter; while the barbarian youth growled and tensed his body, as if he were about to pounce at any moment. However, when they actually looked directly into Hector's calm, almost gentle eyes, they were both stunned.

The girl's trembling subsided somewhat; the rage in the young man's eyes also temporarily subsided, as if extinguished by cold water.

"follow me."

Hector's voice was not loud, but it was exceptionally clear.

"I cannot promise to give you strength, nor can I take control of your hearts for you. But I can teach you how to find your own eye of the storm."