A debt collector.
I had just painted a giant, glowing target on my back for a local, high-tier magical entity. My grand debut as the world's savior was, in reality, a brash declaration of war against an ancient power I knew nothing about.
The sheer, amateurish stupidity of it would have been infuriating if it wasn't so predictable. Of course this world had its own hidden masters. Of course a backwater baron's prosperity came at a price. I had been so focused on my own cosmic game that I had neglected the most basic rule of infiltration: know the local power structure.
"Elara," I said, my voice cutting through the celebratory atmosphere of the manor's great hall that evening. The Baron, now hale and hearty, was feasting, and the entire household was in high spirits.
Lady Elara, my fanatical champion, was at my side in an instant. "My lord? Is something amiss?"
"Tell me about the history of your family," I commanded, my tone shifting from benevolent god to inquisitive sovereign. "Tell me about the founding of this barony. The source of its wealth. Leave nothing out."
A flicker of confusion, then fear, crossed her face. It was clear this was a forbidden topic, a dark secret at the heart of her lineage. But her devotion to me was now absolute. She led me to the family library, her hands trembling as she unsealed a hidden compartment behind a bookshelf. Inside was a single, iron-bound ledger.
"Our ancestor, Baron Silas Von Hess, was not a noble by birth," she confessed, her voice a hushed whisper. "He was a mercenary captain who, according to legend, made a deal with a powerful 'Gray Lord' in the shadow-haunted fens to the north. In exchange for his service in a forgotten war, he was granted this land, a noble title, and a bloodline that would prosper for five hundred years."
"And the price?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She flinched. "The pact demanded a toll. At the end of the five hundred years, the 'Gray Lord' would come to claim the most vital soul of the Von Hess line as payment. That… that was the sickness that took my father. His time was up."
The Collector of Oaths. The Gray Lord. My [Eye of Scrutiny], though damaged, could read the faint, terrified awe in her voice. This was a being of immense power and reputation.
"And now you have stolen its prize," she whispered, her face pale with a dawning, terrible understanding. "It will come for him. It will come for us all."
"Let it come," I said, my voice cold and hard. It was a threat, but it was also a magnificent opportunity. This 'Collector' was a high-tier entity. Devouring it would likely grant me a power boost far greater than any holy relic or cursed disease.
But I was not yet strong enough. I was a Nascent Soul cultivator in a world that didn't run on cultivation. I needed to understand the rules of this new game.
I spent the next week in the Von Hess library, a scholar of apocalypse. Lyra, in her doll form, sat silently on my desk, her own mind absorbing the information. I devoured every book on history, magic, and the world's power structures.
The picture that emerged was fascinating.
This world, which they called 'Veridia', ran on a system of magic. Power was not drawn inward, cultivated from Qi into a core. It was drawn outward, from the ambient magical energy of the world, and shaped by a sorcerer's will and knowledge into spells. The power scale was measured in 'Circles' of magic, from the First Circle (a simple cantrip) to the legendary Ninth Circle (spells that could level cities). The most powerful mages were known as Archmages.
There were also warriors, who used a form of life-force energy called 'Aura' to strengthen their bodies and weapons, becoming Swordmasters whose blades could cut through steel as if it were paper.
And then there were the 'Others'. Beings like the Collector, who existed outside the human systems of power. Ancient gods, primordial elementals, arch-fey, and demon lords who made pacts and played their own, ancient games.
There was no cultivation. The very concept did not exist here. The inhabitants of this world did not have the dantian or meridian systems required to practice it.
Except me.
My body, the vessel I had been reborn into, was a blank slate. But my soul, the core fragment that had survived the collapse, was the soul of a Nascent Soul Realm cultivator. The architecture, the blueprint of a cultivator's spiritual system, was still there.
This was my ultimate, insurmountable advantage. This world was a library full of powerful, exotic spellbooks, and I was the only one who knew how to read a different language entirely. A language of power they had forgotten, or perhaps, never even known.
My path was clear. I would not abandon cultivation. I would re-ignite it. I would become the first, and only, cultivator in this world. While the mages were busy chanting incantations and the Swordmasters were polishing their blades, I would be building a nuclear reactor inside my own soul.
My first task was to restart my own cultivation from scratch. I was a Nascent Soul expert in a powerless, mortal body. I needed to re-temper my flesh, re-condense my Qi, re-establish my foundation. It would be a slow, arduous process.
Or it would be, if I didn't have a legendary, life-force-filled artifact in my possession.
That night, I went into deep seclusion in the manor's most secure chamber. I took out the Sun-Drop Root. It was a gnarled, golden root that pulsed with the warmth and vitality of a miniature sun. I did not eat it.
I placed it on the floor before me and activated the Abyssal Shadow Devouring Art.
A vortex of shadow erupted around me, and the root began to dissolve, its pure, concentrated life-force pouring into me not as fuel for a grand spell, but as the primordial building blocks for my new body.
The process was exquisite. I was not just absorbing power; I was rebuilding myself from the cellular level up, using a legendary ingredient as my foundation. My new body, weak and malnourished, was being reforged in holy fire.
Body Tempering Realm… complete. In minutes.
Qi Condensation Realm… complete. The dantian at the base of my spine formed, a swirling vortex of golden, sun-drenched Qi.
Foundation Establishment Realm… complete. My meridians, once non-existent, were forged from pure light, more stable and wider than they had ever been in my past life.
By the time the Sun-Drop Root was a pile of dust, I had reached the peak of the Foundation Establishment Realm. My body was a perfect vessel, humming with a power that was utterly alien to this world. And I still had my Nascent Soul, a sleeping giant waiting to be reconnected.
The shameless quests had continued, each one solidifying my god-like status in the barony. I had "blessed" their harvests, "exorcised" a minor spirit from their well, and accepted their tithes of wealth and resources, all of which I used to prepare for the coming conflict.
Now, I was ready.
I summoned my champion. "Elara," I said, my voice now resonating with a newfound power. "The Gray Lord, The Collector of Oaths. You fear it."
She knelt before me, trembling. "Yes, my lord. All mortals do."
"Good," I said. "Fear is a sign of respect. And it is always polite to respect a being whose power you intend to steal. I am going to pay your family's debt. I am going to hunt the Collector."
Her eyes widened in terror and awe. To her, this was like a mortal declaring war on a hurricane.
"Send a message to the King," I commanded, my mind now working on a grander scale. This was no longer just about survival. It was about making an entrance. "Tell him that a 'Fallen Star' has landed in his domain. Tell him a divine healer has cured the Von Hess curse. And tell him that I am now going to solve the centuries-old problem of the Gray Lord that has plagued the northern fens. Tell him a new god has arrived in Veridia, and it is time for the old gods to pay their respects."
I was not just going to fight a monster. I was going to turn it into a public spectacle. A demonstration of my power that would put the Archmages and Swordmasters of this kingdom on notice.
But as Elara scrambled to obey my command, a final, chilling notification appeared on my System. It had been passively scanning the world's ambient magical energy, learning, recalibrating. And it had just finished its first, deep-level analysis of the Collector's karmic signature, which now lingered over the manor like a storm cloud. The twist wasn't just that the Collector was powerful. It was what, or rather who, its power was tied to, in a way that defied all logic.
[ANALYSIS COMPLETE: 'THE COLLECTOR OF OATHS'.]
[Entity Type: High-Tier Conceptual Being (Law/Death).]
[Power Source: Binds its existence to 'Pacts' and 'Debts'. It is sustained by the karmic energy of broken promises and paid tolls.]
[...CROSS-REFERENCING KARMIC SIGNATURE WITH AETHELGARD DATABASE...]
...
[!!! CRITICAL SIGNATURE MATCH FOUND !!!]
[The conceptual 'weight' and legalistic authority of The Collector's power signature is a 97.4% match for the 'Court of Inevitability' from the Netherworld.]
[CONCLUSION: This entity is not a native god of Veridia. It is a 'Judicator'. A rogue or exiled agent, just like the one I impersonated, that has set up its own, private collection agency in this reality.]