Owing 138 Pounds, I Have No Choice but to Become a God

Other people inherit noble titles from the start. I inherited a mountain of debt worth 138 pounds sterling.

My father died in a shipyard, but the company sent us a fine: he had violated safety rules, and even the dead had to pay.

Luckily, I have eyes that can see the value of everything.

Sacred remains? Other people gamble with their lives when they take magic potions, risking a loss of control that makes their flesh fall apart. I can extract the power directly, with absolutely no risk.

Eldritch monsters? Other people shout for their blood, while I weigh them by the pound and sell them for cash.

The Church monopolizes the supernatural? Then I'll just have to open up another path.

The Old Gods awaken and come to settle accounts with the whole world?

Fine. Sit down first, and we'll go through your four thousand years of rotten ledgers, one entry at a time.

The world owes me. I want every penny, principal and interest, and not a single one less.