"T-ten..." The noble knelt on the raised platform, his face alternating between green and white, as though he had ridden a roller coaster from hope to despair in mere seconds.
His lips trembled, and a fine sheen of cold sweat seeped across his forehead. His gaze darted between the ground and Lorgar's figure, as though searching for some argument that could salvage the situation.
At last, he squeezed a dry reply from his throat, his voice so faint the wind almost swallowed it.
"That's... that's a little too many... Merciful Lord, could you—could you be more lenient? Five? Three? Or..."
"Is it really only a little?" Lorgar interrupted him. His voice remained calm, but a dangerous chill had begun to emerge within that calm, like cracks spreading deep inside a glacier.
Below the platform, Rockefeller frowned slightly. After years of campaigning alongside Lorgar, he had long since learned to read the Primarch's emotions from the slightest change in his tone.
Now, he had already sensed the anger Lorgar concealed beneath his calm exterior.
That anger was an undercurrent beneath the sea: the surface remained undisturbed, but the depths were already churning, gathering, brewing a storm powerful enough to devour everything.
Without waiting for further instructions, he swiftly turned and gave everyone behind him a brief, decisive signal: all personnel were to withdraw.
All nonessential personnel were to evacuate the area immediately.
The Legion warriors froze for a moment, then quickly activated the Communications Channel and relayed the order in low voices.
Upon receiving the order, the Word Bearers warriors and Auxilia soldiers carrying out assignments throughout the area began an orderly retreat, withdrawing beyond the city limits and leaving the area that was about to fall under judgment.
Lorgar hovered in the sky, the six golden wings behind him beating