"Lorgar Aurelian. I have observed and assessed your Legion."
He paused, his eyes as sharp as calibrated probes fixed directly on Lorgar.
"Your Legion," he continued, his tone devoid of flattery, offering only a judgment grounded in facts.
"Its organizational effectiveness, discipline, and adherence to a unified command structure differ significantly from those of the brother Legions under my command... inefficient forces that frequently require prodding just to complete basic construction tasks."
It sounded like praise, but coming from Perturabo, it carried a condescending, almost exacting air of scrutiny.
He seemed to be measuring the Word Bearers, a Legion bound together by faith, against his own stringent standards.
"You have managed to take the Terran veterans in your Legion," he said, listing evidence as though checking an engineering project's inventory.
"Troops who do not come from your homeworld and often have an inflated opinion of themselves, and effectively integrate them into your command structure. You have made them obey you rather than allowing differences in origin to drag the Legion into infighting and division. This demonstrates considerable skill in military leadership and control."
"You have also united your battle-brothers, whether they hail from Colchis or Terra, to fight for the objectives you set, while demonstrating considerable combat efficiency. Given the factional divisions currently plaguing most Legions, this is no easy feat."
After a lengthy, dispassionate analysis, he reached his final conclusion. His tone remained flat, but his words were enough to move any Primarch:
"Based on the objective facts above, I, Perturabo, acknowledge your ability to command your Legion. You are more than an impressive facade."
Lorgar stood where he was, momentarily unable to process what he had heard.
This sudden, utterly emotionless "high praise" felt less like a compliment and more like a certificate of approval issued after a