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

"Our death, our return, is the final and most crucial step in his becoming a god."

"He needs to take back the twenty-one portions of power that were distributed out."

"Unite the two into one, return to the origin."

"At that time, there will be no more Gene Primarchs in the world, only a God-Emperor hanging high in the sky."

Horus stared into Saint Gilles' eyes.

“We are not his sons, Saint Gilles.”

“We are his ‘reserve food’.”

"He was the dregs of medicine that he kept in the Milky Way, this huge cage, in order to become a god."

Only the sulfurous gale of István echoed between the two.

These words are too shocking and too subversive to be understood.

It not only denied the significance of the Primarch's existence, but also depicted the figure who had always been regarded as the savior of mankind as an extremely ruthless child-devouring tyrant.

"enough!!!"

boom--! ! !

A golden-red beam of light shot into the sky, tearing through the dark clouds overhead.

Saint Gilles finally erupted.

His previously suppressed spiritual energy erupted like a volcanic eruption, instantly melting the black sand within a few hundred meters into boiling magma.

The archangel's twelve wings were fully spread, each feather standing upright, radiating dazzling holy light.

The crimson blade in his hand was drawn with a bang, pointing directly at Horus!

The sword hummed, and the surrounding space cracked inch by inch as it could not withstand the fury.

"Blasphemy! This is utter blasphemy!"

Saint Gilles' face was contorted with rage.

"You're lying, Horus!"

"You're using the most vicious and despicable lies to speculate about your father! You're making excuses for your ambition and your filthy betrayal!"

“Father loves us! He forges weapons for Feralas in Jumangard! He drinks with Dorne in Inwit! He looks at me in Baal… the way a father looks at his son in Baal! Not the way he looks at food!”

"How dare you... how dare you describe him as a monster that devours offspring?!"

Saint Gilles walked step by step toward Horus, each step leaving a golden footprint in the lava.

"Take up your weapons, Horus."

"I won't listen to your nonsense anymore."

"Today, I will defeat you with my own hands, and make you and your soul repent before the Father!"

Although his resolve was firm, it was based on the belief that "human will can conquer nature."

Horus is now attacking the very foundation of Saint Gilles’s emotions as a “human being.”

If the father is fake, if love is fake, if even one's own existence is merely "storage food".

Then what is the meaning of the so-called "Tao" in this universe?

Horus remained completely calm in the face of the raging, murderous archangel.

They didn't even bother to claim the "World Breaker" title.

He simply stood there, letting Saint Gilles's oppressive aura assault his armor, causing it to creak and groan.

"Do you think I can make these things up out of thin air?"

Horus looked at Saint Gilles, and a hint of sorrow appeared in his eyes.

"You think I'm the only one who thinks this way? Why would Forgrim believe me? Why would Angron and Logar hate him? Why would Perturabo be in despair?"

“Saint-Gilles, you have seen so many worlds and heard so many stories.”

"Don't you think that in this story of 'the son rebelling against his father and receiving support from some of his brothers'..."

"Is a character missing?"

Saint Gilles' sword tip was almost touching Horus' breastplate, and the scorching sword energy had even burned marks on it.

"Shut up! There are no missing characters! There's only a traitor who's full of lies!"

Horus sighed.

"In a family, besides a strict father, there is a rebellious son."

"Shouldn't there be... another mother?"

The moment those two words were uttered.

A strange fluctuation descended upon this black wasteland without warning.

An ancient, primal power, as profound and warm as the earth itself.

This force gently swept across Saint Gilles's raging spiritual energy field, like a gentle hand calming the once boiling water.

The sword in the archangel's hand stopped at that moment, unable to pierce any further.

"Alright, my son."

A woman's voice.

The sound was not loud, nor did it have any sacred echo, but it resonated clearly in Saint Gilles' ears and even deep in his soul.

It possessed an irresistible majesty and a tender love that stirred Saint Gilles.

"Put down the sword."

Chapter 535 Not a Single Word Believed (Extremely Long Chapter)

If Hector were here, he would see all of this, and he would see that woman.

I wonder if my expression will be as lonely as Or's, even more so than fireworks.

Saint Gilles was stiff all over.

He looked in astonishment behind Horus.

There, in the gap between the void and reality, a figure slowly emerged.

That's a woman.

She didn't appear to be exceptionally beautiful, nor was she wearing any elaborate armor.

Barefoot, stepping on the scorching black sand, wearing only a coarse cloth robe that resembled that of some ancient monk.

Her skin had a healthy wheat color, and her long hair was braided into a thick braid that hung down her back.

She was holding a cane that looked like a dead tree branch.

When Saint Gilles saw her eyes, his heart skipped a beat.

Those eyes held a sense of vicissitude, wisdom, and the weariness of time.

And in the depths of those eyes, Saint Gilles saw himself.

Not just myself.

He seemed to see the shadows of all the originals in those eyes.

I saw Guilliman's perseverance, Anglon's anger, Vulcan's kindness, and Kurtz's madness...

It was a resonance of blood ties.

A kind of maternal instinct that originates deep within our genes and can never be faked.

The sword in Saint Gilles' hand trembled.

He trembled as he watched the woman approach step by step.

The gravity of the entire Istvan V seemed to have been subtly shifted.

Saint Gilles' muscles were taut to the limit, but he did not swing his sword.

Because that resonance, originating from the depths of his bloodline and from every fragment of his genes, is triggering a tsunami in his soul.

For the prototypes created in culture tanks, this term should have been a cold, biological term, or a distant fantasy.

But now, she's right here.

The woman reached out her hand, her hand not delicate, even somewhat rough, and gently stroked Saint Gilles's perfect face.

"poor child."

The woman sighed softly.

"You suffered."

“You are…” Saint Gilles’ voice choked up, the title stuck in his throat, but he couldn’t say it out.

The woman withdrew her hand, turned around, looked at Horus, who also had a complicated expression, and then looked at Saint Gilles again.

Her gaze turned serious and sorrowful.

"More than 20 years ago, in that laboratory in the Himalayas."

"I am the chief genetic engineering expert and also your biological maternal donor."

“That man… the Emperor, he was a genius, and also a madman. The power he brought back from Moro was too immense, too immense for any mortal body to contain. So he created you.”

Erda's voice trembled slightly.

"I originally thought he was creating children. Creating guardians for humanity."

“Until that night, I saw his true plan.”

Erda pointed in the direction where Horus had just displayed the illusion.

"He not only uses you as tools to conquer the galaxy, but also as... future sacrifices."

"When the Great Crusade ends, when the Web is completed, and when he no longer needs the concept of 'war,' he will reclaim the power within you to complete his so-called 'path to godhood.'"

"I can not accept."

Tears welled up in Erda's eyes as she looked at Saint Gilles as if she were looking at a lamb that had almost been sent to the altar.

“I cannot stand by and watch my children grow up in incubators, be trained like dogs by him, and eventually become withered bones under his throne.”

"So... I made that decision."

Erda took a deep breath and revealed the "truth".

"It was I who activated the Geller force field in the laboratory. It was I who guided that subspace storm."

"It wasn't the Four Chaos Gods who stole you away."

"It was me... who tried to send you away."

“I want you to escape his control, to escape that fate of being swallowed up. Even if you end up on a desolate planet, even if you have to struggle to survive in the mud.”

“At least… you are living as ‘human beings,’ not as ‘dregs.’”

Erda reached out, as if wanting to touch Saint Gilles' wings.

"I'm so sorry, my son."

"It was too chaotic back then, I couldn't control where I landed. I didn't know you'd fall into that radiation hell like Baal, or that those horrible nails would be implanted in Angron..."

"But I really did it to save you."

“Look at yourself now, Saint Gilles. You have a free will, you have love and hate. If we don’t send you away, you’ll just be a heartless killing machine in the palace’s underground.”

Having said all this, Erda took a step back and stood beside Horus.

The mother and son stood side by side, looking at the archangel opposite them.

One is to use bloody "history" and "future" to prove the emperor's ruthlessness.

One uses the identity of "mother" and the name of "love" to confirm that cruel truth.

The light in Saint Gilles' eyes dimmed at that moment.