The swamp sprawled ahead of them, sticky air clinging to their skin. Adam led the massive group of 75 students through the swamps, footsteps squelching. It was far too loud. The terrain didn't allow for stealth, forcing them out of it, whether they wanted to or not.
Adam had already adjusted for that. If they couldn't hide their approach, they'd make noise deliberately – enough to ward off any brazen attacks from classes waiting in ambush. The strategy was simple. Appear too strong to engage casually without proper plan. And even then, make it looks unpleasant.
"Keep formations tight," Adam called back, his voice carrying over the wet ground. "Don't split up too much."
Terry moved up beside him, wiping sweat from his brow. "This place reeks worse than the northern ridge."
"Marsh rot," Adam replied, scanning the horizon. "Means we're getting close to the coordinates."
