Six teens died, and nobody noticed.
All were too busy with the war preparation to care about kids playing in the mud.
Leisurely—Demigod Adolf strolled into the camp through the entrance marked by two tiki torches like a dignified noble. His steps were measured, and one hand was folded on his stomach; his eyes glancing left and right with mild amusement.
Or at least, the smile hinted at amusement.
Inside, he was disgusted by this place.
But it was a part of his duty to listen to the higher-ups, so there's no other way around this.
"Good evening."
"Yes, good evening."
Demigod Adolf flashed a smile at a pair of soldiers passing by.
His noble bearing and quiet confidence made the soldiers straighten their backs in an automatic salute. Still, the two exchanged a glance afterward—they didn't recognize the dignified man at all. But for the man to stroll into camp with such self-assurance, he had to be someone important.
Not an enemy.
So, the pair let him pass without questioning.
