Ahh... Duckburg: a bustling metropolis buzzing with busybodies. Located on the sunnyside of Calistosa, Duckburg is where the rich get richer and workers work harder. Built on wealth and hard work, no one embodies these values more than Duckburg’s finest, wisest, and wealthiest…

"Most efficient and well-dressed Duck who ever lived... Scrooge McDuck! Eh, did you get all that, Miss Quackfaster?"

"All written and accounted for, Mr. McDuck,” answered Miss Quackfaster, “I'll have this sent to the gazette by 1 PM sharp."

"Ah, good. Oh, and make sure they don't forget the 'well-dressed' part this time! I had to pay a nickel for every re-edit that goofy gazette happened to neglect!"

Scrooge was a miserly duck with a history almost as long as the zeroes in his bank account. He earned his demeanor, having clawed and shoe-shined his way to the top, never depending on tricks or others. Scrooge lived by one rule: “To get on top of life, work for it.”

His pride was warranted, with dozens of achievements to his name. Through hard work, one thing kept him sane—his lucky dime. It had been by his side since his first pay. Even if he lost everything, he’d be alright as long as he had his lucky dime.

Scrooge was a lucky man. In fact, Scrooge had his luck cut out for him when he found time to read today's paper. The headline read:

The Sword of the Archangel. Said to have been passed down in the years of the earliest man. Creationists claim that the sword still exists and has yet to be discovered. Researchers and theologians provide further explanation on page 12.

The headline made quite a claim. Scrooge nearly choked on his drink before having a laugh. He bawked at the article, "A sword of an archangel? Bah! Just another piece of unproven rubbish. Next, they'll be sayin' they have inarguable proof that Hellfire will rain from the skies! I've seen a lot in my time, but I guarantee that no one will ever see that!" The idea of a magic sword was ridiculous. No one would ever fall for such a thing. They wouldn't even fall for a unicorn if they tried.

Though maybe there was a way to make something out of this ridiculous guff. Maybe, if the sword was real, he could have it for himself, stashed away in his private collection. Or maybe, it could be sold to the Duckburg Museum of Ancient Stuff. It would be the museum's most prized treasure, and Scrooge could earn royalties just for being the man who brought the coveted blade home. Oh, the thoughts! Oh, the dreams!

"Argh! What am I thinking?! I don't believe in such malarkey! And I'm not gonna drop everything for some silly delusions. Only a fool would be enthralled by some pick-a-nickin' parlor trick."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the office door. Scrooge buzzed the visitor in, only to watch his door be kicked open by a rather excitable figure. The visitor came rushing in, panting and screaming, "Uncle Scrooge!—pant pant—The paper!—Wheeze!—I rushed over, and-…!!!"

"Well, well. If it isn't my excitable, yet irritable nephew," greeted Scrooge, "Did ye' remember to wipe your feet before barging in?"

“You'll never believe it! It’s this great treasure called ‘The Sword of the Archangel!’ It’s this great legend that came from-…!”

“Spare me your whizzing tales, nephew. I’ve read the paper. Heck, I get royalties for every letter that’s printed. One nickel’s worth per word. Oh, isn’t that wonderful?”

“But the sword!”

“Say no more. I care not for this venture. I am a busy man. Now, don’t you have a job somewhere, Donald?”

"But, today's my day off, Uncle Scrooge."

Donald's mention of his day off sure brought the classism out of his stingy uncle. But while he tried to ignore it, Donald argued that the sword would bring good fortune to those that possess it, and possibly answer life's greatest questions, offering great wisdom. Scrooge huffed and shut him down once more, flatly stating that no sword nor archangel exists.

For as long as Donald had known him, Scrooge was the richest and luckiest duck in history. He's seen and proven the reality of many myths. So to see him repudiate the possibility of this treasure greatly confused him. Donald shook his head and remarked, "For someone like you, Uncle Scrooge, you have some close-minded beliefs." Scrooge nearly spat out his drink.

"Close-minded beliefs?! Now hear this! Someone like me knows where his feet are. Someone like me knows that he doesn't wait around for miracles. Someone like me works hard to spend every penny I had just to earn ten more. I know that when a man needs to jump, he'll jump HIGH! I don't need graces. I don't need platitudes. I need results!" declared the prideful man, "Now, if you don't mind, dear nephew... I must be back to earning me' profits. Honestly, you should know better. You'll never grow to be a man if you don't drop these childish beliefs."

"But!"

"Good day, Donald!"

Donald was escorted out of the office with a polite kick to the rear. The plucky duck crashed comically on his behind. Scrooge wasn't going to budge so easily, so he'd have to use a less honest tactic to get under his skin. First, Donald brushed himself off. Then, he slowly moved from the door, staying in earshot for Scrooge to hear.

Like a fox, Donald strutted along and made some outward remark about Scrooge's rival, Flintheart Glomgold. He hummed along, speaking craftily about his uncle's rival's business, and how he and his men are likely on their way to find the sword as he speaks. Afterwards, Donald fixed his collar and marched along.

In seconds, Scrooge's door opened. Donald turned smugly as Scrooge's eye peeked through the crack. The blowhard shuddered and called Donald back in.

"Donald...?" Uttered the sheepish fool, "Ech... maybe we can work out a deal. Eh-... tell me more about the sword. Ey, lad?"

Donald smirked as he thought to himself, "This works every time." Now that he had Scrooge by the arm, Donald marched back into Scrooge's office to discuss the terms of his newest business proposition.