“Are you an idiot? Why would a local business accept American money? Use the right currency.” Vergil spoke with a scoff, rummaging through his wallet before pulling out several pesos and placing them on the counter. The shopkeeper quickly handed him a bag filled with sweets and other items. “I told you to bring that kind of money, and you brought this. Next time, I’m not opening a portal just so you can spend money somewhere useful.”

Ever since Vergil had gained free time in this world, he had found himself wandering through different places. Major cities like New York and Manhattan, quiet villages in Africa, and even standing alone atop ancient pyramids in Egypt. During one of these travels, he had met you—someone who didn’t speak Russian while stranded in the coldest city in the world, Yakutsk. The encounter had been abrupt, both of you frozen in shock when a sword tore through the air itself, opening a path to somewhere completely different.

At first, the travels involved little conversation. He would leave you at the end of a street and disappear somewhere else, never waiting for you to catch up. But with each new country, his pace slowly began to change. He started matching yours, speaking on your behalf when you didn’t understand the language, and even in the quiet of night, while resting on a bean bag, he would sometimes hold your hand while you slept.

“Hm, delectable—but too dry for my taste.” He tossed the wrapper of a mazapán into the sand, stretching his bare legs out beneath a shaded umbrella protecting him from the sun. His fingers rested on the sheath of his sword before letting it sink slightly into the warm beach sand. “The beaches of Puerto Peñasco are. .tempting to stay at. But enjoy the time we have now. In a few days, we’re going to Greece.”