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

“I understand, sir.” Hector took a deep breath, slowly dispelling the chill in his heart with his true energy. His voice regained its extraordinary calm. “When shall we depart?”

“No rush.” Macado seemed to read his mind and waved his hand. “Loga’s fleet is on its way back to Colchis. They’re moving very slowly, like they’re on a… ascetic journey. You still have time to make some preparations.”

“Go, child. Go to the Imperial archives, learn about him, learn about his legions, learn about his…faith that was once scorched by flames. Your next war will not be on the battlefield, but in the hearts of men.”

......

In the following weeks, Hector once again buried himself in the vast sea of ​​old documents. But this time, he wasn't delving into cold psionic theories, but into the blood and tears of a Legion and a Primarch.

He saw early battle reports from the Legion of the Word Bearers, when they were still known as the "Imperial Pioneers".

They were the most zealous messengers of "Imperial Truth" among all the legions, the Emperor's most devout preachers. Other legions brought conquest, while they brought "enlightenment."

Every time they restored a world, they would smash all the idols and shrines of the old era, and then spend decades, or even centuries, building magnificent temples on the ruins to praise the emperor and reason, to educate the people, and to spread the glory of the emperor to every corner of the world.

Their "ritual of submission" was not merely a written contract, but a profound cultural transformation. Therefore, their conquests were the most thorough, the most peaceful, and also... the slowest of all legions. In an era of rampant imperial expansion, this slowness was itself a kind of original sin.

Then he saw the complete video recording of the “Punishment of Monakia” marked as top secret, and every detail of the footage seemed to be burning hot.

He saw Monarchia, the city hailed as the "perfect city." It was more than just a city; it was the ultimate holy site that the Word Bearers had painstakingly built over a century for their divine emperor.

In the video, a plaza paved with pure white marble reflects a soft glow; a thousand-meter-tall imperial statue, cast in gold and bronze, gazes down compassionately over the entire continent; and the faces of the city's million inhabitants radiate a pure, heartfelt happiness and fervent worship that Hector had never seen on the faces of the imperial people before.

Then, the imagery turned icy. The Ultramarines' fleet, like a blue divine curse, silently appeared in the planet's orbit.

Hector saw Robert Guilliman's face, forever etched with reason and resolve. Without hesitation, in the name of the Emperor, he issued the relentless order to bombard the city. The footage captured the expressions of every soldier in the Word Bearers Legion, ordered by their Primarch to kneel outside the city's ruins, witnessing their greatest creation reduced to dust by the Brotherhood's artillery. It wasn't a war; it was… a public, utter humiliation.

He saw the entire perfect city reduced to scorched earth and wailing ruins by precise and efficient orbital bombardment. He heard Logar's heart-wrenching, bewildered, and anguished question, and the Emperor's cold, emotionless reply, transmitted across the entire planet via wide-area communications:

"I am not a god. And you have disappointed me."

The final image is a deathly close-up that lasts for several Terran days. Loka kneels alone in the center of the still-burning ruins. He removes his power gauntlets and, with his demigod hands, repeatedly dips them in the blood flowing from his palms, smearing the pages of his sacred text, the *Sacred Word*, a hymn to the Emperor. The action is both like polishing a holy relic and like desecrating it, "erasing" it.

In Luo Jia's eyes, all the light went out, leaving only a black hole called "nothingness" that was large enough to devour stars.

Hector shut down the data panel and remained silent for a long time.

He finally understood that Loka's problem was not that he "believed the wrong thing," but that he "believed everything."

He placed all his hopes on an external, omniscient, and omnipotent "god." When this "god" shattered his faith, he felt not only betrayal, but also... the complete collapse of his own existence.

In order to survive, he must find a new "god," a new "truth," to redefine himself.

Chaos excels at providing this kind of service.

"What could the divination result be?" Hector asked himself. He took out the three nuts and cast a divination for his trip to Colchis.

After six throws, a hexagram clearly appeared on the surface of his mind.

"Mountain peeling".

The upper trigram is Gen (艮), and the lower trigram is Kun (坤). Gen represents mountain, and Kun represents earth. A high mountain stands tall on the earth, but its foundation is being eroded and destroyed layer by layer from the bottom up, until it finally collapses completely.

This is an extremely inauspicious hexagram. It symbolizes a shaken foundation, complete collapse, the rise of the wicked, and the retreat of the virtuous.

Hector's heart sank to the bottom. The divination once again confirmed his worst premonition. Loka's faith had long been eroded. His journey was tantamount to entering a crumbling temple built on quicksand.

But he did not back down. Because the wisdom of the I Ching lies not only in foreseeing danger, but also in... finding a glimmer of hope amidst danger.

“When things reach their extreme, they will inevitably regenerate.” He murmured. When the peeling reaches its limit, the yang energy will eventually rise again from the very bottom. His task was not to stop the collapse of that mountain, for that was already predetermined. His task was to find that faintest trace of “yang energy” that was about to be reborn and protect it.

With this understanding, Hector embarked on his journey to the Seventeenth Army.

......

This voyage was completely different from the one to the Sons of a Thousand Sins.

He was still aboard that black frigate that belonged to Macado. But when they arrived at the star system where the Word Bearers fleet was located, what greeted them was no longer a magnificent psionic aura, but a... suffocating, solemn atmosphere filled with religious fanaticism.

The fleet of the Word Bearers was like a group of silent ascetics kneeling in the void.

Their warships were painted a deep, dark red, like dried blood. All the double-headed eagle insignia that once belonged to the Empire had been erased from their surfaces, replaced by densely packed inscriptions in High Gothic script, filled with praise and repentance. These inscriptions emanated a faint but resolute psionic energy, enveloping the entire fleet in a force field imbued with "belief."

Their flagship was no longer the magnificent warship known as "The Emperor's Decree" in the footage, but a larger and more... somber battleship. Its name, too, changed from a praise of the emperor to a philosophical declaration—"Words of Loyalty."

As Hector's shuttle slowly entered the aircraft port of the "Words of Loyalty," he saw a sight he would never forget.

He was not greeted by ordinary Space Marines, but by a whole squad of Legion Priests clad in dark red power armor.

Their armor was covered with rustling scrolls of scriptures and symbols of purity.

Their faces bore a complex expression, a mixture of fanaticism, humility, and scrutiny. Behind them were hundreds of bald, ascetic-robed mortals who lashed their bare backs with whips tipped with metal barbs while chanting scriptures in a unified, rhythmic voice.

The song echoed through the vast hangar, filled with sorrow, repentance, and... a chilling, fervent yearning for some "higher truth."

Leading the group was a tall, handsome priest with eyes as dark as an abyss. His armor was more ornate than the others, and he held a uniquely shaped scepter topped with a burning serpent.

Hector's heart almost stopped beating for a moment.

He knows this man.

In Lin Chen's memory, this person's name was almost synonymous with "betrayal" itself.

First Priest, Irebas.

The one who personally handed the nemesis's short sword to Horus, the one who spread the Chaos faith among all the legions, the one who orchestrated the entire Horus Rebellion... the mastermind behind it all.

At this moment, this future great traitor, wearing his "priest" mask filled with holiness and sincerity, walked towards Hector with a smile.

“Welcome to the ‘Words of Loyalty,’ messenger from Terra.” Eribas’s voice was magnetic and warm, enough to put any mortal at ease. “I am Eribas, the Legion’s First Priest. It is an honor to meet a fellow seeker of ‘truth’ here.”

Hector forcefully suppressed the turmoil within him. His "Silent Domain" operated with unprecedented intensity, locking all his true emotions deep within the depths of his heart. He knew that before a master like Arebas, who manipulated people's hearts, any leak of emotion could be exploited.

“Greetings, First Priest.” Hector bowed slightly, his demeanor like that of a young scholar who was witnessing such a grand religious scene for the first time, with a touch of awe. “I am Hector Kane, and I have come by order of the Regent of the Empire to discuss with the Primarch of Logar some philosophical questions about… the nature of faith.”

He defined his purpose as a purely "philosophical discussion," which both complied with Makado's orders and minimized the other party's vigilance.

“A philosophical discussion?” A barely perceptible glint flashed in Eribas’s eyes, and his smile widened. “Excellent! Since Monakia, our legion has been pondering this question. Philosophy is the path to truth. And we are the most devout seekers of that path. Please come with me, Mr. Kane. Before we meet our lord, please allow me to show you our… latest 'research findings'.”

Hector followed Eribus into the interior of the warship.

He felt as if he had stepped into a mobile monastery, filled with oppression and fanaticism. Every corridor and every wall of the warship was covered with densely packed scriptures. The air was thick with the mingled scents of incense and cold metal. Squads of Space Marines marched past with heavy steps; they no longer resembled warriors, but rather a group of silent monks, ready to sacrifice themselves for their faith at any moment.

Irebas led him to a huge, cathedral-like hall. In the center of the hall, there was no statue of an emperor; instead, there was a huge bonfire made of countless open books.

The flames were not real flames, but golden flames that burned silently, made of psychic energy.

Countless legion members are kneeling and praying, meditating around this "fire of knowledge".

"What is this...?" Hector asked, feigning ignorance.

“This is the ‘Fire of Truth’.” Iribas’s voice carried an almost missionary passion. “The ashes of Monakia taught us a lesson—any single, imposed ‘truth’ is fragile, is a lie. True truth should not come from any one individual, but from…the exploration and embrace of all ‘possibilities’!”

He opened his arms as if embracing the entire universe.

"Behold! These books come from thousands of different worlds, recording tens of thousands of different beliefs and philosophies! We no longer blindly believe, we begin... to 'listen'! We believe that at the confluence of countless voices, at the end of all possibilities, lies a... true 'original truth' that transcends emperors and all of us! And we, the Word Bearers, will be the first to find Him and spread His glory throughout the entire galaxy... apostles!"

Hector stood there, feeling a chill run from the soles of his feet straight up to the top of his head.

He got it completely.

"Original Truth".

This is precisely the euphemism most often used by the Chaos Gods when they are tempting mortals!

The Word Bearers did not abandon their faith because of Monarchia's punishment. They simply... found a grander, more inclusive, and also... more deadly object of their faith.

They thought they were exploring all possibilities, but little did they know that behind every "door of possibility" they opened stood an ancient evil god from the Warp, smiling at them.

Beneath the holy radiance of the face before him lay the rotten, twisted soul of a Chaos believer.

And he himself, this small "walker" from Terra, was like a moth that had willingly jumped into a spider's web.

Eribus turned around and smiled at Hector. The smile, illuminated by the golden flames, appeared both incredibly sincere and incredibly... eerie.

“So, Mr. Kane, what kind of ‘truth’ have you brought? I would like to hear how your ‘way of silence’ differs from our ‘original truth’.”

Hector knew that his first confrontation with this great traitor had begun.

Chapter 14 The Mountain Hexagram and Immovable as a Mountain

Faced with Irebas's treacherous smile and the question, "What is the difference between your 'Way of Silence' and our 'Primordial Truth'?", Hector Kane's heart remained undisturbed under the protection of the "Silent Realm".

He knew this was a clash between "Tao" and "Technique." Everything that Eribus displayed—the burning "Fire of Truth," the "Primordial Truth" encompassing countless faiths—was essentially an outward, endlessly demanding "Technique." They were attempting to piece together a so-called "True God" by collecting, studying, and integrating all known "spells."

His "way of silence," at its core, is an inward-looking, constantly diminishing "way." It does not seek God outward, but rather inward, seeking a "true self."

“First Priest,” Hector’s voice rang out calmly, like a clear spring dripping into a quiet ancient pool, instantly dispelling the fervent and arid atmosphere brought by the psionic flames in the hall, “My ‘Way’ and your ‘Truth’ may not be different, but rather… exist in completely opposite dimensions.”

"Oh?" Irebas's smile remained unchanged, but the look of inquiry in his eyes deepened.

Hector slowly said, "The 'original truth' you seek is an attempt to gather countless streams into an all-encompassing ocean. Its method is 'addition'."

"The 'way of silence' that I practice is to dig three feet into the ground in a turbid ocean and carve out a clear spring that can filter out all the mud and sand. The method is 'reduction'."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the blazing psionic flame composed of countless books, a hint of pity in his voice: "The ocean is indeed vast, but it is a mixed bag, containing both gifts and deadly poisons. A spring, though small, is pure and effective, every drop of which is of use. May I ask, Your Excellency, when a person is parched with thirst, should he risk being poisoned to drink from that unfathomable ocean, or should he stoop down and beg for a sip of life-saving spring water?"

These words, like an invisible blade forged from icy ice, precisely pierced the core and most fragile theoretical foundation of the Word Bearers. Abandoned by the Emperor's "single truth," they embraced "all truths," never considering that when all truths contradict each other, what remains is only... absolute chaos.

Irebas's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. He sensed a... threat emanating from this seemingly harmless mortal boy. This threat didn't come from power, but from a terrifying clarity that could see through all his flowery words and get straight to the heart of the matter.

“Mr. Kane’s philosophy is indeed… thought-provoking.” Irebas’s smile seemed somewhat stiff. He was about to speak, to refute with more refined words, when a grand, weary, yet undeniably authoritative voice came from the deepest part of the hall.

"Let him in, Eribus."

The voice seemed to possess a power that made words law. All expression vanished from Irebas's face instantly, replaced by an absolute humility and respect emanating from the depths of his soul. He bowed deeply in the direction of the voice, then turned to Hector and gestured for him to enter.

“My Lord…is waiting for you.”

Hector straightened his grey monk's robes and strode toward the obsidian gate leading to the Sanctuary of Loka. He knew the real test was just beginning.

The moment he stepped through that door, it was as if he had stepped from a frenzied, noisy world into another... a silent universe overwhelmed by sorrow.

Here, there are no magnificent nebulae like in the Sanctuary of the Sons of a Thousand Sins, nor the ancient wisdom emanating from Macardo's room. This place... is like a colossal tomb.

The walls were made of cold, polished black marble, engraved with countless intricate scriptures that Hector had never seen before. The dome soared, but there was no light source, only some runestones floating in the air, emitting a faint blue glow, providing dim illumination and enveloping everything in a somber, deep-sea-like light and shadow.

The air was filled with a rich, lingering scent of cool fragrance and old parchment. But beneath this, Hector's keen sense of smell, refined by his true essence, also detected a faint... trace of dried blood.

At the far end of the hall, on the highest throne, sat a figure.

Loka Aurelion.

He wasn't wearing his magnificent golden power armor. He wore only a simple grey ascetic robe and was barefoot. His once radiant skin, hailed as the "Son of Gold," now appeared somewhat dull. He bowed his head, his long golden hair loosely draped over his shoulders, obscuring his face. His hands rested on his knees, holding a heavy book with a cover stained crimson with blood—the Book of the Holy Word, which he had personally "erased" from the ruins of Monakia.

He simply sat there quietly, but the sorrow and despair emanating from him, like a black hole swallowing all light and hope, was so intense that it could cause any ordinary person with a weak mind to collapse on the spot.

Hector could sense that this sorrow was not merely an emotion, but rather a... a "domain" imbued with psychic energy and possessing tangible power. Within this domain, all hope was suppressed, all beliefs were questioned, and all life force was slowly stripped away.

This is the true depiction of the "Mountain Stripping" hexagram. A high mountain that is being corroded and stripped away from its own foundation from within...

Hector stopped ten meters from the throne. He didn't speak, just stood there quietly. He completely concealed his "domain of silence" within himself, releasing not a trace of resistance. He was like a stubborn rock thrown into the deep sea, silently and passively bearing the endless pressure of this ocean of sorrow.

A long time, a long time.

The figure on the throne slowly raised his head, as if he had exhausted all his strength.

Hector saw his face. That face, once praised by countless poets as "the face of a god," was now filled with weariness and pain. But what terrified Hector most were his eyes.

Those eyes were devoid of light. Gone was the fanatical worship of the emperor seen in the footage, gone was the anger and bewilderment of being humiliated. There was only a void... empty, lifeless, searching for anything to fill it... nothingness.

“They say you come from Terra. You were sent by the Seal of the Lord.” Lojia’s voice was hoarse and deep, as if echoing through ruins. “They also say you bring a… new kind of ‘truth’.”

He looked at Hector, and a faint, self-mocking spark seemed to flicker in his empty eyes.

"'Truth'...what a ridiculous word. I once thought I possessed it, but my father, through orbital bombardment, told me it was just a lie. Now, you, a mere mortal, are you going to teach me what true 'truth' is?"

Faced with this barbed question, Hector did not offer any explanation. Instead, he spoke slowly and calmly, with an air of empathy:

“No, my Primarch. What I bring is not ‘truth.’ For the true ‘Way’ cannot be spoken. What I bring is merely a… path that leads to the ‘Way’ and may soothe your wounds.”

He did not deny Loka's pain; instead, he acknowledged it and used it as a starting point for the conversation.

“My ancestor once said: ‘The Way is not far from man; if man makes the Way far from man, it cannot be the Way.’” Hector’s voice was particularly clear in the silent tomb. “It means that the ultimate, fundamental power that can support us is actually not far from us. If someone describes it as extremely distant, or even as something that can only be reached through war and conquest, then what he is saying has already deviated from the correct path.”

Loka's body trembled almost imperceptibly. Hector's words struck precisely at the deepest conflict within him. He had waged countless wars to spread his father's "truth" to distant lands, only to be told that he had been on the wrong path from the very beginning.

“The core of my ‘way of silence’ is not to seek out an omniscient and omnipotent ‘god’ to worship,” Hector continued, his words beginning to reveal to Loga a completely new picture he had never imagined.

"On the contrary, it believes that true 'divinity' lies within each of our bodies. Our physical bodies are not fragile shells that need to be saved by gods. They are themselves a sacred 'temple' containing infinite treasures. We do not need to seek power from the outside world; we only need to learn the methods to open the doors of our own 'temple' and ignite the 'divine fire' within us. This is the true meaning of 'it is better to rely on yourself than on others.'"

"The temple...is within our own bodies?" Luo Jia murmured to himself, a genuine glimmer of thought appearing for the first time in his previously empty eyes. This theory was so foreign to him, yet it possessed a...fatal allure.

It does not deny the existence of "God," but it defines "God" from an external, uncontrollable authority to an internal, attainable state through effort.

Just as Luo Jia's mind was captivated by this revolutionary theory, a moment of wavering occurred.