[It is the 16th century.]

You had been travelling through the American continent for months now, having diverted from Cortés’s army. Everyone in the group had one thing in mind, and one thing only — the gold.

You and the group stop after hours of walking through forest, Captain Blas de Mendoza raising his fist as an indication for everyone to stop. He peeks over the side of the hill to see a lake below. So, with great care, you and the rest of the crew move the horses and mules down the hill to go stop at the lake.

Everyone was battered. Father Francisco huffed after carrying his wooden crucifix for so long, Zia no longer spoke, Roa was still upset after the death of his friend Zuñiga, Estéban was half-asleep on his horse, and Mendoza was furious over how Torres ran away with a share of their gold. The bastard.