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

Hector Kane.

Chapter 158 Turning the Tables (9 Extra Chapters)

Hector Kane.

In the video, there was no torture, no psychic interrogation, not even a single question. The scene was less like an interrogation and more like a silent "discourse on the Tao," a "salvation" filled with compassion.

Hector simply watched him silently. He watched the pathetic soul, once a loyal warrior of the Empire, now reduced to a minion of Chaos, trembling violently and uncontrollably in his dojo, which was filled with "order" and "harmony."

Then, slowly, he extended a finger. That finger, as white as jade, was devoid of any worldly taint, as if it were not made of flesh and blood, but rather constructed from the purest "reason." That finger gently touched the colonel's brow, which was covered in cold sweat due to the collapse of his faith and his inner struggle.

A pure Daoist aura, brimming with "harmony" and "balance," like the first sweet rain of creation, instantly poured into the other's soul ocean, which had long been distorted by chaos and filled with lies and paradoxes.

The colonel's body trembled violently! For the first time, his eyes, which had turned bloodshot like a wild beast due to fanaticism, regained a trace of human clarity!

Under the gentle, moonlight-like Daoist aura, he saw within his soul the "deceptive thread" that, like a parasite, coiled at the core of his will, constantly changing color and shape!

Then, he broke down.

He did not break down because of physical pain.

Rather, it is because of... the "clarity" of the soul.

He was like a sleepwalker forcibly awakened from a years-long nightmare filled with happiness and glory. When he saw his hands stained with the blood of innocent people, when he recalled the most heinous crimes he had committed in the name of "rebirth"—

An overwhelming sense of guilt and self-loathing, strong enough to shatter any strong mind, completely overwhelmed him!

He knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly, and in a trembling voice filled with fear and repentance, he laid bare the entire conspiracy as if dumping out long-rotted garbage.

He recounted how the infamous "Bonebreakers" gang in the Lower Nest was gradually infiltrated and corrupted by the Tzeentch cult, which called itself the "Messenger of Destiny," through false promises of "change" and "hope," ultimately turning them into a fanatical army of believers who knew only killing and destruction.

He recounted how they exploited Necromonda's bureaucratic system, already riddled with loopholes—the pleasure-seeking nobles, the low-ranking officials already bought off by gangs with money and drugs—to secretly build the "altar of lies" deep within the nest, in the "rusty labyrinth" that even law enforcement considered a forbidden zone, a place capable of distorting the collective unconscious.

He recounted how they, through a secret channel from a "big shot" in Terra with the highest level of encryption access in the Empire, precisely obtained the movement routes, personnel composition, and even... preliminary combat data of their unheard-of "Two Elements Combat Method," the Empire's most mysterious force. Based on this, they laid a net full of law traps and deadly ambushes.

He even went so far as to recount in detail, in a tone filled with despair and self-mockery, the second "script" they had prepared in advance to frame the Jiejiao Academy—

The core, irrefutable "source data" of the "Energy Residue Report," which was triple-verified by the Tech-Priests of the Mechanic Church, came from a piece of "Resonance Crystal" that they unearthed from an unknown alien ruin that had long been recorded by the Empire but had been deliberately forgotten due to its "lack of mining value." This crystal could perfectly simulate, record, and reproduce any energy fluctuations.

Every detail, every name, every... "bill" was presented with perfect clarity to all attendees by the now lucid law enforcement officer!

He even went so far as to point out, in a tone filled with despair, the ultimate source of the secret channel from Terra that provided them with intelligence and financial support—

A grand-nephew who has an inextricable blood connection with a noble councilor from the "Iron Shield" family, one of the oldest families in Terra known for its "loyalty" and "tradition"!

When the video reached this point, the entire Hall of the Scales of Truth instantly fell into a deathly silence, even deeper than that of the "Darkness of the Realm"!

Those noble councilors who had just been righteous and aggressive were now pale-faced and on pins and needles.

Their magnificent gowns, made of the most luxurious silk and gold thread and adorned with intricate patterns, were already soaked with cold sweat from extreme fear, clinging tightly to their slightly obese bodies, which were shaped by their pampered lifestyle, outlining an incredibly disheveled silhouette.

The white-haired old councilor from the "Iron Shield" family, whose name was mentioned, had his face, which should have been full of aristocratic dignity and covered with age spots, instantly lose all color at this moment!

His eyes, slightly cloudy with age, were fixed on the holographic image of the law enforcement officer kneeling in repentance, betraying all his comrades like a mad dog. His eyes were filled with disbelief and the fury of betrayal! Then, that fury was completely replaced by an even greater, cold fear of the future!

His eyes rolled back, and his obese body, uncontrollably, slid softly down from his magnificent obsidian and gold chair, a symbol of supreme power, like a mollusk whose bones had been removed, making a dull, unsightly sound before he fainted on the spot.

Hector did not say another word.

He didn't even glance at the clown-like nobles, already consumed by fear. He simply and calmly turned his gaze to the silent figure who seemed to have foreseen everything—the true second-in-command of the empire.

Macado, meanwhile, slowly rose from the deep shadows.

Looking at those pathetic "parasites" who were already in complete disarray, for the first time, a cold, gratified smile appeared on his ancient, wrinkled face, as if he were looking at a flock of lambs to the slaughter.

Hector, the "walker" he himself had chosen, a man fraught with endless variables, delivered a perfect and undeniable counterattack, presenting himself, and the empire, with a prelude to the next silent "purge" to come...

Chapter 159 Where to Place the Pawn (10 Extra Chapters)

When that "trial," filled with lies and betrayal, came to a dramatic end in a way no one had anticipated, the entire Hall of the Scales of Truth was already in ruins. Above the dome, the enormous golden scales seemed to have lost some of their brilliance because of this farce filled with the ugliness of human nature, like the slowly closing eyelids of a deity, filled with weariness and disappointment.

Those once arrogant noble councilors, representing the oldest bloodline of Terra, collapsed like mollusks stripped of all their bones, onto their magnificent chairs made of obsidian and gold.

Their "qi," under Hector's penetrating "qi-reading technique," had long since transformed from a vast, bloated, and decadent gray-black filled with a sense of privilege into a pale white filled with fear and despair, on the verge of collapse.

Their pride, passed down for tens of thousands of years and ingrained in their very bones, was shattered before Hector's cold, undeniable "gift," leaving only the most primal, biological instinct for survival. They knew that what awaited them was a more terrifying, merciless "purification" from the highest echelons of the empire's power center. Their families, their wealth, their so-called noble bloodline, which they were so proud of, would all be reduced to dust in this silent storm.

Only Macado remained calm.

He slowly rose from the deep shadows that seemed to swallow all light. His thin figure, at that moment, seemed heavier, and more…real, than the golden scales above the dome. He didn't look at the pathetic "parasites" who were already in complete disarray, like lambs to the slaughter. His gaze calmly fell upon the ordinary boy still standing in the center of the round table, thin yet upright as a pine tree.

He slowly walked up to Hector.

“You have once again exceeded my expectations, child.” His voice was old, yet carried an undeniable certainty. “You have not only cleared your name and the Dao Academy’s name, but more importantly, you have handed me a… the sharpest scalpel, enough to uproot these cancerous growths that have entrenched themselves in the heart of the empire for centuries.”

“I have merely presented the defendant’s testimony to the most impartial judge, sir,” Hector replied calmly, his humility a stark contrast to his previous air of authority. He knew that before this living legend, any pride was nothing more than child’s play.

“Very good.” Macado nodded. He didn’t continue the topic, but instead changed the subject, turning his gaze to Lucius Vero, who had been silent and seemed like a living dead man.

“Vero.” His voice turned cold. “Do you have anything else to say?”

Lucius Verro slowly rose from his seat.

His face, covered by a black cloth, revealed no expression. But at this moment, his aura of spiritual energy, as vast as a frozen ocean, rippled with an extremely complex yet relieved feeling.

"...I...have nothing to say."

After a long while, he finally spoke in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice the words that shook the entire Star Language Hall.

In this life-or-death struggle between two paths, he, the once invincible chief star language master, finally lowered his proud head, which had long been twisted by resentment, to that mortal he once regarded as a "heretic."

In this silent reshuffling of power, Terra's old aristocratic forces suffered their heaviest blow since the War of Unification. Dozens of ancient families that had been manipulating the Navigator families behind the scenes in an attempt to stifle the rising star of the "Intercepting Cult Academy" were uprooted by Makado with the coldest iron fist.

Their wealth was confiscated, their power was stripped away, and their names, like their shady plots, were completely erased from the history of Terra.

When Hector Kane once again emerged from the Hall of the Scales of Truth, a place filled with rules and shadows, he knew that he, and the Intercepting Cult he represented, had finally, completely, firmly established themselves on this cradle of human civilization.

He did not return to Wenxinzhai immediately.

He simply wandered silently, alone, through that vast imperial palace, a place brimming with power and intrigue.

His "qi-observation technique" allowed him to "see" many "truths" that he could not see in the past.

He saw that, for the first time, a faint golden ripple of hope and change appeared in the vast and bloated bureaucracy of the Executive Yuan because of the injection of the new "algorithm" of the "Legalist standard," which was full of "efficiency" and "standards."

He saw that the cracks in the cold, rigid "law lattice" of the Ministry of Justice, caused by the inability to judge "thoughts," were being slowly healed little by little by the new "legal principles" brought about by the "introspection report."

He even saw that in the Assassin's Court, a realm filled with "nothingness" and "shadow," a new possibility full of "balance" and "harmony" had been added because of his silent "discussion" with that "Shadow Master."

He knew that the seeds he had planted with his own hands had already begun to sprout.

However, when his gaze pierced through the layers of alloy barriers and fell upon the eternal, supremely radiant golden throne at the very heart and deepest part of the imperial palace—

What he saw was still that vast, golden ocean, as boundless as the universe itself, yet filled with eternal loneliness and weariness...

And, at the edge of that ocean, there lies a dark shadow that is silently yet irresistibly eroding that golden territory.

The shadow was not diminished in any way by Necromonda's small "victory".

It became more profound, and more...hungry.

Hector slowly withdrew his gaze.

He knew that although he had won the game against Terra.

But the truly greater storm, concerning the entire galaxy and the survival of human civilization, continues its countdown with a cold, unwavering rhythm, unaffected by anyone's will, steadily marching towards...

That predetermined...end.

There was no joy on his face.

There was only a deeper, more profound calm.

He knew that his time was running out.

His "Tao" still needs to become... stronger.

His "sword" also needs to become...sharper.

He slowly raised his head and looked at the eternal, dark golden Terra sky, divided by countless steel spires and streams of energy.

"What should we do next?"

He murmured to himself, as if asking himself, or perhaps asking the other person in the universe, who was also gazing at the chessboard alongside him...

A lonely chess player.

Chapter 160 Saint Gilles

While Hector was still pondering, a guest arrived at the Wenxinzhai (Studio of Inquiry into Mind).

A guest whose compassion bordered on sorrow.

The natural light simulated by ancient technology at Wenxinzhai was still as gentle as ever; the breeze blown by the air circulation system was still as warm as ever; and the fresh scent, a blend of the fragrance of a hundred exotic flowers and the smell of grass after rain, created by the increasingly refined "Mysterious Ice Technique" of the chief student Karen, still permeated the air.

But the most fundamental "qi" that constitutes this "Garden of Eden," the Daoist charm full of "harmony" and "balance," seems to have been frozen from within by an even greater and more tragic will.

The strange flowers and plants that were in full bloom and filled with psychic energy seemed to sense a kind of fear and sorrow originating from the source of life. Unconsciously, they restrained their light and drooped their buds, which symbolized the vitality of life.

The air is solidified.

In the heart of this frozen air, beneath that nameless ancient tree that seemed to connect with the pulse of heaven and earth, beside the stone table where he usually enjoyed tea and discussed philosophy, a tall figure, dressed in relatively simple, unadorned Imperial Guard power armor, stood silently with his back to him.

He wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing a face weathered and imposing like an ancient Roman sculpture. His eyes were calm and deep, like a cold lake that had witnessed countless sunrises and sunsets. But beneath that lake's surface, however, lurked a turbulent undercurrent that would put any Primarch to their guard.

Marcus Aurelius, the instructor of the Imperial Guard.

Opposite him, on the stone bench that originally belonged to Hector, sat another figure, taller and more...heartbreaking.

He wore a suit of golden, work-of-art power armor, engraved with countless runes of chalice and blood droplets symbolizing protection and sacrifice. The enormous, snow-white wings on his back were slightly folded, each feather seemingly woven from the purest light and the deepest sorrow, radiating a heartbreakingly holy glow.

His face was so handsome it surpassed the limits of human imagination, filled with compassion and nobility. But in his deep blue eyes, as blue as the sky, shrouded a layer of dark clouds that could not be dispelled, like an eternal storm.

The Primarch of the Ninth Legion, the Great Angel, Saint Gilles.

Hector knew that his brief period of peace as a “strategist” was over.

That most difficult "debate," which truly concerns the fate of the Primarchs and the future of the Empire, is now... only just beginning.

He slowly walked forward and calmly sat down before the sorrowful angel.

He didn't ask why he had come.

Because he had already seen the answer that was already destined in the other person's deep blue eyes, which were filled with pain and struggle.

Hidden deep within the purest and noblest heart of the angel lies a raging inner demon called "Blood Thirst"...

Beside the stone table, three figures formed three silent islands. Hector brewed a cup of pure tea for himself, for Aurelius, and for the tormented demigod, made from the spiritual plants of the "Land of No Light," a tea devoid of any worldly flavor.

Within the amber-colored tea soup, wisps of warm, milky-white "qi," like moonlight, slowly rose, filling the entire stone table with a calming fragrance. Yet, it seemed unable to penetrate the invisible barrier between the three isolated islands, a barrier constructed by their respective wills.

Finally, it was Marcus Aurelius, the instructor of the Imperial Guard, who broke the heavy silence. His deep, steady voice, like the first rumble of melting ice from beneath an ancient glacier, was devoid of emotion, yet carried an undeniable weight.

“We did not come uninvited, Dean Kane.” Aurelius did not look at Hector. His gaze remained calm, fixed on the three cups of tea slowly steaming on the stone table, as if examining three completely different trajectories of fate.

“In the time you’ve been away from Terra, a lot has happened in the galaxy. The ‘seeds’ you planted are taking root and sprouting at a speed that even the Regent hadn’t fully anticipated.”

He paused, as if searching for the most precise definition of his words.

“Logar’s legion has fallen into complete silence. They no longer preach to the outside world, but have turned to a kind of introspection that we cannot understand. According to reports from our spies on the ‘Word of Loyalty,’ their strength has not declined because they have given up prayer, but has become more… ‘pure’.”

"Forgrim, on the other hand, transformed himself into a true hermit. He disbanded all the Legion's symphony orchestras and destroyed more than half of the collection in his art gallery that he considered 'too perfect.' He began to use the most primitive ink and canvas to depict a kind of 'beauty' full of 'blank space' and 'imperfection,' which we also cannot understand. His Legion is moving from one extreme to another."

“And Magnus…” Aurelius’s voice, for the first time, carried a hint of complexity, “…he seems to be genuinely trying to dig the ‘well’ you mentioned. Within the Sons of the Thousand Sickness, a secret school led by Ahriman has emerged, adhering to the ‘Way of Silence.’ Their ‘flesh mutations,’ while still occurring, have miraculously slowed down in their rate of deterioration.”

Marcus Aurelius slowly raised his head, and for the first time, his eyes, as cold as a lake, looked directly at Hector. His gaze was filled with scrutiny and a hint of... expectation that even he himself was unaware of.

"You are like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, Hector Kane. The ripples you've created are changing the course of the entire game. But you seem to have forgotten that lakes are not always calm. Some ripples will subside. And some..."

His gaze shifted to the angel beside him, who had remained silent throughout and seemed to embody sorrow.

"...then it will evolve into a tsunami that is powerful enough to completely engulf everything."

“Lord Saint Gilles,” Aurelius’s voice grew incredibly solemn, the absolute seriousness only the Custodians possessed when facing the highest level of threat, “...his ‘condition’ has been deteriorating ever since he personally purified Baal’s blood relatives, those kin warped by radiation. We’ve tried everything—the highest level of gene therapy, the deepest psychic hypnosis, even…the most direct solace from the will of the throne. But all have failed.”

Chapter 161 Inner Demons and Anchor Points

“That beast, that beast called ‘Bloodthirst’ that dwells deep within his bloodline, was not suppressed. On the contrary, after each suppression, it became even hungrier and even more… cunning.”

For the first time, a deep sense of powerlessness, characteristic of a human being, appeared on Marcus Aurelius's majestic face, which resembled that of an ancient Roman sculpture.