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"...Poverty, starvation, death, war, where treachery is rewarded and the righteous are smited, in this terrible world there is no room for God! That's how I know what you truly are, you devil!"

"Your words sadden me apostle, but I shall give you a second chance in a peaceful world..."

Everything seemed a haze of colors, my mind a fog of incoherent babble except- of course- for the calculations required to keep the Type-95 pumping blood through my veins, the formula the only thing I could remember clearly. Frustrated, I could do nothing but cry.

Pathetic, but it was to be expected. As a former HR Manager and Lieutenant, I knew that there would always be a growth period for employees and soldiers in a new organization, even if they had previous experience. As long as they showed initiative, professionalism, and improvement, there was no need for unnecessary intervention. I ought to give myself the same patience. Starting a new life, even if it was the third time, would be a lot of work. Like a fresh employee straight out of college, it took me some time just to learn the basics. Learning everyones' names, learning the language, learning the company's resources, learning the relevant POC's, learning which employees I could ask for help and which I couldn't, and -of course- learning what was expected of me. It normally took an army recruit a few days to do this, and a new employee between six months to a year to settle into their responsibilities. It had taken me three years.

Frankly, it was embarrassing. Ma. Pa. Mycah. Just three people. Just three names. And yet it took me three years. Learning English, when I was already fluent in another Germanic language. Three years. Embroidering a dress, helping Pa with finances, interacting with customers. Three years, and I still hadn't earned the trust required to contribute to the family's primary business.

I have always known that I wasn't a genius, but I have never thought myself particularly slow. Pa had been far more patient with me than I would have been, he had never once complained about my drain on family resources. But it would only be a matter of time until I found myself thrown out onto the streets of Flea Bottom. I would hold no resentment towards the man. Bad employees must be fired for a company to remain profitable afterall.

After the past two years of underperformance, I knew it was my responsibility to show initiative and request a project to prove my competence to the organization.

"Absolutely not. What kinda girl does such things?"

Ma had had enough of my malingering, voicing her objections to the idea, but Pa seemed to have some patience for it.

"It's nothin' tuh fret ovuh," said Pa to Ma. "When she realizes what my work is like, she'll stop her pesterin'. Behsides, we got something more crazed than ole' King Aery's in the shop today, ain't never got a request like this."

Even if Pa didn't believe in me, he'd let the results determine his decision. That was probably why he had final say on company matters, such a rational approach had surely led our business into the black for many seasons. I quickly found myself in the slaughterhouse, a large stag secured in place. Pa handed me a butcher's knife, and gave me a nudge. "Go on then."

The knife was too large for my small fingers to wrap around, I needed both hands just to hold it, and its weight was enough to make my arms tremble.

"Tanya?" Pa asked. "Scared are yeh? Still wanna do what I do?"

Although he was smiling, laughing, I knew it was to cover his frustration. He was already walking towards me. It was never a good sign when your boss started doing your work for you. For a moment I panicked. After Pa had stuck out his neck for me, I was about to let him down again. After this, he'd have no choice but to let me go. A flash of inspiration came to me, and I finally remembered the specifics of one of the more basic spells from my second life.

I grit my teeth, applied an enhancement formula, and slashed through the stag's neck. It wailed for a bit as I waited for it to still. Once it was dead, I sliced open its belly. I pulled at its still-warm intestines, until I felt something snap. I tossed the innards into a bucket, able to gut the deer at last, and gave Pa an honest grin, the first I'd ever given him after the years of frustration. "Thanks, but I can do this on my own. To be honest, I've been wanting to do this for a long, long time. And I must say, this is everything I imagined it to b.."

He scrambled backwards, a look of horror on his face. Because I had finally begun to contribute to the organization?

Of course not, I sighed at the ridiculous notion and followed after Pa. My chest must have been glowing. It had been a mistake to use magic. Back in my second life, a soldier named Mary Sue had ruptured my heart with an optical spell that had functionally operated like a giant laser straight out of Star Wars. I had used the Elenium Type 95 as a replacement heart, and managed to carry out the rest of my mission. I bore Mary Sue no ill will, she had been an enemy combatant, and killing me had simply been a part of her job. As it had been mine, when I tried to kill her.

I did, however, resent Being X and his childish pettiness. While the rest of my body was identical to the one I had had in my second life, I had been born with a computation orb where my heart should have been. Being buried in my chest, it was unnoticeable except for when I performed particularly powerful spells. This was no enlightened society, I was sure to be burned as a witch if they learned the truth of my body.

"I won't show it again," I promised Pa. "Just please, don't tell anyone about it."

Pa frowned. "Yeh… Yeh know not to show anyone?"

"Of course I know," I told Pa. "I've been trying to hide it. The religion of this world…" I scowled. "I know they're against such things, although I've never understood why… I know they'll kill me if they find out about it."

"Yer young… Yeh'll grow out of it…" Pa said gruffly, staring at a group of children playing with sticks.

"I can't grow out of it," I said, stating the obvious. "It's in me. It's replaced my heart."

"Why?" Asked Pa finally, now staring at the mud of the filthy Flea Bottom street. "Why are yeh like this?"

It was surely some ploy by Being X. I had expected him to taunt me after my second death, but perhaps he was bitter that I hadn't sincerely prayed to him even when my end became inevitable. Instead I had found myself in the body of another infant with nary a word from Being X, or at least no memory of such an occurrence. I had been afflicted with a mild case of amnesia, most of my memories from my past two lives forgotten. To the best of my knowledge, Being X had given me no instructions for this life. Perhaps it had been an apology?

Hehehe, well, even I can make jokes sometimes. It was probably time to start keeping a weapon with me again, so the nefarious so-called-god could be dealt with the next time he attempted to surprise me.

To Pa I simply shrugged, and answered as honestly as I could. "The gods made me this way. Their motives have always been incomprehensible to me, this is just another example of their irrationality."

"Oh… Oh, by the Seven," Pa said, pulling me close. "In a war… A raid… There's times that that kind of thinking can be useful. Sometimes we need a demon."

He sounded almost desperate to find some use for me. Naturally his first thought was the same as my former employer.

"Not as much as you'd think," I said. I had forgotten the formulas from my second life, making my computation orb and magical abilities all but worthless. I remembered I could fly, but I couldn't remember how. Perhaps with enough time- and a healthy dose of trial-and-error- I could recover the formulas, but even if I did I had long since concluded that such abilities would be counterproductive in the current environment. With them I could obviously kill as many enemy soldiers as I wanted in a skirmish. I could fly, I could use enhancement magic, deflect arrows with my passive shell and sword strikes with my active shell, defeating a few heavily armored battalions would be easy. But without a rifle I couldn't use explosion formulas, and eventually I'd have to come down. I'd still need to sleep. "I could do some damage, but they'd take me out eventually. I'm in no hurry to die."

Besides, I preferred peace to war anyway. Even a job as a butcher was preferable to willingly going back to the front lines. And yes, there was a difference, no matter what the combatants in Arene might say.

"I…" Pa gripped me tighter. "Yer right… Course yer right… Jus… Just don't show Ma. Mycah… Leave them out of it. This'll be our secret."

"Of course," I said, smiling and skillfully twirling the still-bloody-knife to show that I was fully committed to my career as a butcher. "It would only be a liability if they knew."

Pa seemed satisfied with that. He argued no more. It made sense. Any good manager sought to mitigate risks.

I finally had a role in the company. Slaughtering animals. Whenever an animal needed to be put down, it was my responsibility. Was it my favorite job? No, but it definitely beat out the Rhine. So whenever Pa told me some bleating lamb, some sniveling swine needed its throat slit I did my duty with a smile. Only a fool would be satisfied with such meager contributions however. I knew that my current performance would only be acceptable temporarily. For long term employment I needed to expand the scope of my role in the organization. I let Pa know that I was unsatisfied with my current contributions. I needed more, and Pa allowed it. I was to propose projects to further the corporation's goals. In other words, I had at long last reclaimed my coveted position as a salaryman.

My first project involved allying with other industries. Bars. Whorehouses. Even the local theater. They advertised our business, and we'd share with them half the profits for all patrons that they sent our way. With the increase in customer traffic, we were able to increase profits by 30%, and then 30% again, and then 30% again. A boon to be sure. Not only did Pa's organization finally have a warchest, it had become the dominant butcher shop in Flea Bottom.

But the key, as always, was how to use the victory.

ooOoo

"...And that is how we can take Urreg off the board permanently," Tanya finished, sliding the last copper penny off the kitchen table, a single satisfied sparkle bursting from a question mark shaped curl of yellow hair. "With his bankruptcy, your company will have sole possession of the Flea Bottom butchering market."

The Butcher chewed on his lip, and glanced out the door at his boy Micah, playing in the mud with the other kids in the neighborhood. If only his daughter could be… Not like a normal girl, not even a normal child, just… He saw none of himself, none of his wife in the girl, not physically, but… There were… Stories… Myths of whitewalkers, taking babies and changing them… Myths of demons and fairies replacing babes in the crib with their offspring... Even as a baby she'd been so strange, far too aware, she had rejected the name they'd given her, Tyana, only responding to Tanya. She seemed some kind of changeling, some kind of demon wearing the skin of a little girl.

And now she wanted to ruin poor Urreg's life. She'd somehow uncovered who Urreg's suppliers were, how much he was offering them, how much he was selling his butchered meat for, and used that to determine how much gold Urreg had on hand. She wanted to offer more coin to Urreg's suppliers, starving him of his wares, and sell their meat for less, removing Urreg's customers. It would result in a loss for The Butcher, but they'd survive with the gold from the past few months. Urreg would not. An entire livelihood reduced to a math problem. A linear system, an optimization problem, Tanya had called it. Every penny accounted for, every copper important, victory determined by precision and planning rather than skill and luck. Urreg had never been to war, but he knew in his old bones that even the most dastardly plans of Aegon himself were less ruthless than what the blonde demon was proposing.

"No," said The Butcher, not able to meet Tanya's frightful glare. He feared the child, who demanded the right to slaughter the livestock, who killed with a gleeful smile. "No. Enough of this. Yeh've been a real help, but… Times are good. Selling for less, buying for more, it's foolishness. I won't hear of it."

The Butcher couldn't breathe. For a moment, Tanya was silent, and the bustle of Flea Bottom overtook the shop. He heard Tanya get out of her chair, and stride away. Her footsteps were measured and rhythmic, not at all like the clatter of a normal child.

"Look at this," Tanya commanded, having marched back to the table. "What do you see?"

The Butcher could not disobey. "Two cups."

"Made of pewter," Tanya said. "The same dimensions too. Tell me Pa, did you buy them from the same craftsman? Even the same shop?"

"No."

"So why are these cups identical?"

"Because they know what sells," The Butcher said softly. Word was already spreading about how Tanya had used the bars and whorehouses to get more people to the shop. Old Urreg was a wily one, he'd be doing the same thing soon and all their new patrons would disappear as quickly as they had come.

Tanya smiled softly, having seen his understanding.

"No," said The Butcher. "It don't matter if we don't squeeze out every coin as might be possible. I was happy with the way things was anyway."

A tantrum would have almost been welcome, even a violent one. Anything for her to seem like more of a child. Tanya silently followed his gaze to Micah, and did something far more terrifying than any violence. She smiled smugly, displaying her utter certainty of victory.

"I'm not," said Tanya. "Brother is dressed in rags. Mother skipping meals to feed us. Anyday a cutpurse could rob us, anyday one of us could get sick, and we'd be wallowing in the shit, piss, and mud. Money though… With money, everything would be different. With enough coin- coin only possible with a monopoly- we could leave Flea Bottom." Tanya stared up at The Red Keep. "With money, anything is possible. So tell me again Father, are you satisfied?"

"I've known Urreg since I was a youngling," The Butcher protested, his defenses weakening. "I… I can't… I couldn't do that to him."

Tanya laughed. "Do what to him? Put him on the streets? Do you think that's what will happen to him? No. No, as you've said before, Urreg is a wily fox. Dismissing such a worthy employee would be a waste of human resources. Once he's desperate enough, we'll buy his shop. He will work for you."

"I…" The Butcher whispered to the changeling. "F-fine… Do it. Drive him out of business."

Tanya smirked, and gave him a crisp salute. "Yes sir."

Thus began The Butcher's rise. In months Urreg's store was bought, the wooden ham sign hanging outside his shop replaced by that of a salamander, which was the symbol Tanya had fashioned for their store. And just as the demon had promised, The Butcher had the funds to buy a new property in Rhaenys's District. As before, through marketing and bullying business tactics, The Butcher seized control of the district. Even the local guilds were no match for Tanya's ruthless methods. The family moved through Visenya's District, Aegon's District, and the Waterfront, dominating each market, buying up slaughterhouses and farms, hiring merchants to transport supplies, until The Butcher had total control of all aspects of the meat market in King's Landing. Using their funds to research new ways to prepare, cut, and cook meat as well as methods to make their franchisees run more efficiently, their stranglehold of the market was secured. No new competition would emerge, and things were run so smoothly that no one would make a fuss. Eventually The Butcher found himself in the Red Keep, carving up the meat from the royaltys' hunts. And then one day, shortly after the death of The Hand, he was summoned by The King himself.

"Butcher," said The King, staring down at him from the Iron Throne, swirling a goblet of wine. "They tell me that you once didn't have a copper to your name, that you've smashed and destroyed every opponent you've come up against. That your Salamander Corporation has conquered King's Landing. They call you The Demon of Flea Bottom." The King snorted. "You'll be coming with me to Winterfell…" He trailed off, staring at his goblet. "More wine!" He squeezed a serving maiden's arse as she refilled his cup. "I'll even have a wagon set aside. You can bring your family."

The Butcher winced. "Mycah," he said once he got home. "How would you like to see The Nor…"

The words died in his mouth. Tanya was shaking her head.

"Sending brother would be an inefficient use of human resources," said the blonde changeling. "I can more ably interact with nobility, and I can scout locations for expansion across all of Westeros."

The Butcher wanted to say no. Away from the Gold Cloaks, she'd be able to engage in her sinful inclinations free of consequences.

But The Butcher also knew that when you made a deal with a demon- even one wearing the skin of a little girl- the bill always came due.