Uncle Scrooge never cared much for mythology. In fact, it was his aversion to the unknown that fueled his love of adventure. Although he was often exposed to many myths and legends, and the realities behind their supposed mythos, Scrooge felt that he had seen enough to know when something that firmly exists becomes nonexistent as society advances. To Scrooge, there was a reason why man exists as it is today, and it certainly was not due to something as abstract as sin. But Scrooge was callous. If it meant being a penny richer than his rivals—especially Flintheart Glomgold—he would never object.

If the treasure was real, he'd eat his own hat. Otherwise, Donald would end up with such a high bill he'd have to work two shifts at one of Scrooge's many factories for two years just to cover the travel expenses, with interest!

"Alright, Donald. Where on Earth are we headin'?" the old miser asked.

"West, Uncle Scrooge," Donald answered, "We want to travel via the path called 'The Sword of Michael’. I have it all drawn out on this map I bought. See? It starts here. Then, we make a surefire line past Ireland to..."

Uncle Scrooge interrupted Donald to ask why on Earth they would name a path based on a sword. More importantly, he wanted to know why Donald was so interested in the sword to begin with. Donald scratched his head as he drummed up his answer. He sighed and laid bare that it all began when he woke up this morning in a cold sweat.

Donald had a dream about a cold, dark place, running water, raging fire, and a ghost. Scrooge even had a place in Donald's dream, as he supposedly would be the first to see an unbelievable spirit staring at him with deep, piercing, blood-red eyes. Such a dream meant something, and with the headline from the paper, he knew that he had to go on this journey. Donald opened his eyes and gave his uncle an assured look. Surely, Scrooge would understand Donald's plight with care and acceptance.

"BAH! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HAH!"

Or not...

"And WHAT is so funny, doggone it?" Donald growled.

"THAT is why you dragged me out here?! For a FEVER DREAM?!" Scrooge cackled.

"It's no fever dream, Uncle Scrooge! This is serious!"

"And so am I! I'm serious enough to admit that you, dear nephew, have a screw loose!"

Donald had every right to be upset with Scrooge. He could have blown up in his face or insulted his uneven philosophy. But instead, he chose to hold his tongue. Donald sat down, shooed his uncle aside, and turned on an in-flight movie.

"You're wasting your time, Donald," Scrooge scoffed, "Ignoring the truth will only make ye' worse for wear." Donald decidedly ignored his uncle's skepticism and set his attention on the ongoing film.

The flight to Jerusalem carried the adventurers overseas and into the Western Hemisphere. Time wound itself forward as they crossed the Prime Meridian. They follow the thrilling trail to Jerusalem, eventually landing in the dead of night. They arrive at a crowded airport, no less. Once there, Scrooge and Donald book themselves in the fanciest hotel money could buy. Of course, it was all on Scrooge's dime.

"What do you mean it costs 10,000?!” Scrooge blurted, “Your advertisement clearly said '100!'"

"Sir, you do not understand! We pay in shekels!” the manager corrected, “It costs 10,000 shekels to book a room. Not dollars. Your dollar is WORTHLESS here!"

"Ohh, no! You listen to me!” argued Scrooge, “Where I come from, a shekel is worth nothing more than a PENNY! Now, where is my quality service?!"

It had only been half an hour since he landed, and already, Scrooge had to foot a rather steep bill. Meanwhile, Donald was over by a newsstand, catching up on some reading. He read up on as much as he could about the city, as well as any location that tied into the newspaper headline on the treasure. “Any connection was a good connection,” he would tell himself. Then, if he had time, he could check out some of the tourist locations.

When Donald later reunited with Uncle Scrooge, he was met with a rather intense glare. Donald knew this glare far too well and decided to get out when there was a chance.

"Yikes! When Scrooge looks like that, I'd better scat!" thought the astute Donald. He quickly grabbed his room key and his bags, then scurried off. Scrooge would eventually join Donald in his hotel room once he cooled off.

The hotel suite was not very luxurious. The room had small cracks in the ceiling. The beds were unkempt. There was a very small CRT TV that sat on a single dresser. The kitchen was about as small as a studio apartment. Additionally, there was an odd smell that emanated through the room. It smelled like shag carpeting that had been sitting in sand for at least 30 years. Apparently, it was the best that Scrooge could afford without breaking a third of what sat in his coffers.

With their luggage hauled in, Donald eagerly hopped straight into bed. Nothing soothed the mind more than a comfy bed and a good book. Uncle Scrooge, however, had nary a twinkle in his eye. He stood by the balcony to let the city's ambiance settle on him.

The land was coated in an indigo pattern laced with golden textiles. The dark abyss glistened against the shining patterns. Below, he could hear the sounds of the people. The combined ambiance and dark patterns would weigh on Scrooge's mind, drifting him back to his work.

Profits had been down for some time, and errors in his lighter ventures had put a dent in his earnings. Oh, sure. The people say they love a product, but what is the point of love if they do not pay? Goodwill alone does not make a profit.

Scrooge's mind then pushed towards the Beagle Boys. Scrooge gripped his cane at the thought of those annoying bums. He just knew that once they caught a whiff of his absence, they'd spring out of jail and glom onto his money bin like prairie dogs. The rate at which those blasted burglars sprung out of jail was so frequent that Scrooge sometimes considered changing the legal system to get them off his back. Then again, those fools are dumb enough to violate parole if given the chance to do one with ol' Scrooge McDuck.

"Aw, come get some rest, Uncle Scrooge," Donald chimed, "We have a big day ahead of us."

Donald was right. It was a long flight, and the old miser could use some rest. Scrooge tapped the floor with the butt of his cane and obliged.

"This is more than what I bargained for," Scrooge remarked, "The only reason I'm entertaining this charade of yours is because I realize I need a break."

"That's the spirit," Donald smiled.

Happy to see his uncle in an agreeable mood, Donald tossed Scrooge the TV remote so he could get changed. Donald opened his suitcase expecting to find his nightclothes. Instead, the suitcase exploded with three eager boys and a load of toys.

"We're free! Yah-hah!" the boys exclaimed.

"Huey?! Dewey?! Louie?!" Donald gasped, "What on EARTH are you boys doing here?!"

"Hiya, Unca' Donald!" Huey greeted.

"We overheard you mumbling about going out of town with Uncle Scrooge," Dewey explained.

"So we snuck in one of your suitcases to tag along!" Louie added, "Gee, Unca' Donald. You had a lotta junk in there. You could've fooled someone into thinking you were moving out of the country."

That would explain why he had that back-and-forth with international customs. It also meant that if the boys were here, then all his clothes, tools, and toiletries were likely scattered across the airport... or the docks of his houseboat! The realization nearly gave Donald a heart attack. And soon, the duck's blood boiled.

"Uh-oh!" the boys shuddered. Luckily, they had Uncle Scrooge to hide behind, who was more than happy to shield them from Donald's incoming tirade. To stop Donald, he simply grabbed him by the tip of his bill, resulting in Donald's cheeks popping like a balloon.

"Ah, silence," Scrooge chuckled, "Boys! Ah, come. Come! It's good to see ye'!"

Scrooge was happy to see his little nephews, but he expressed disapproval for their little stowaway stunt. Like the little angels they were, the nephews apologized for their little stunt. But the little angels would insist that they had reason to do it. According to the triplets, Donald was going to leave them with a babysitter.

"Babysitter, you say?" asked the curious uncle.

"Yeah! She's a mean ol' lady that makes us eat tapioca fruit cups. And she doesn't let us have any fun! And she makes us sit around and read 'Dick & Jane' books all day!" the triplets complained.

"Dick & Jane?!" Scrooge blurted, "Ack! What a buncha boring gaff! You boys should be reading about heroes! True heroes! Pillars of hard work and do-goodery!"

"Yeah!" Dewey exclaimed, "Do you know any true heroes, Unca' Scrooge?"

"Why, of course!" Scrooge laughed, "It's me! In fact, you boys should’ve stowed away a day later. You would've had time to catch my memoir in 'The Duckburg Times!' Oh-ho! I made quite a headline when I found that prized one-of-a-kind gumball machine."

The nephews cheered for their rich uncle's latest achievement. It was like Scrooge always said: "Hard work is its greatest reward! Plus, it's nice to have a little swelled head every now and again."

While Scrooge was self-congratulating, Donald stitched himself back together. It was just his luck to have his nephews show up. It was an even greater luck that he now had to hear his vain uncle boast about earning even more riches. Once all was said and done, the Duck family prepared for bed.

Time may vary between countries separated by the Prime Meridian, but jet lag is consistent. Both the triplets and the old miser were tucked in one bed while Donald snuggled up in another. Donald even left the TV on as white noise as he fluttered into dreamland.

With the volume set to the lowest increment, the CRT TV became a makeshift night light. But what was believed would be the low hums of static television became murmurs of intrigue and confusion when the channel abruptly changed to the local news. Oh, how lucky for Donald to lean against the remote at the last minute. It didn't matter as the lagging duck had long been in slumber.

Interestingly, the news broadcast began innocently enough—Small-time news about local stores reaching new heights and cultural powerhouse museums. But then came some breaking news, warning civilians about a group of black-masked organizers known as the "MaliQuack-Tud." The name was the only distinguishable term spoken through the muffled speakers. Surely, they won't be a problem for what should hopefully be a short excursion.