The particular town Roland and I are in has a problem with bandits and there is a large payout for a hunter like myself to join a hunting party to try to weed them out. There's an even larger one if I just do it myself.
And bandits? I can handle some bandits.
Any half-trained mercenary can handle bandits.
We may not be the posh and official Adventurer's Guild that barely does a thing without the king's direct say-so, but we're far better trained than a random band of ruffians working together to steal from soft targets.
The wind rustles in the trees, whistling faintly through the branches as I continue deeper into the forest.
Bandits don't tend to choose the deepest parts of the woods for their hideouts.
The trails are dangerous enough as it is - being out in the very deepest part of the forest is a foolish risk that bandits never take unless they're extremely desperate.
The forests are wide and sprawling, easy to get lost in, and just like in any world, there's plenty of predators that thrive only in the deep wood. Even a ruffian bandit knows that much.
That in mind, it's not a hard calculation to figure out where they're probably lurking.
The location of the ambush attacks can give away where the bandits hide in most cases, because most are creatures of habit, and nobody wants to lug all their stolen goods through a dangerous forest very far.
I climb up on top of a nearby rock and carefully peer through the leaves. It's night, but that just means it's easier to pick out the meager lights of a hidden camp.
Bandits aren't stupid, but humans need heat and light to survive the night, and the group of bandits I've heard reported are too big to hide completely.
I spy fires a short distance away, flickering in the shadows of the trees. There is a camp down there. It is most likely the right place.
I back off from my spot on the rock, sliding off of it and returning to the path. Now I know the direction of their base, so all I need to do is head there.
This time I get back to the path and I continue for about ten minutes, my boots crunching on the leafy ground, and then there is the sound of movement and laughter.
A moment later a voice cries out, "Stop right there, girlie! Hands up in the air if you don't want to die!"
Of course, they appear just as I reach my destination. I raise my hands half-heartedly. "Alright, I surrender."
A single bandit emerges from the shadowy cover of the forest and takes a look at me, licking his lips as his gaze roves over me. "Nice little thing, ain't ya? Come here, miss, come here."
He beckons, grinning lasciviously and motioning for me to come closer. I make a show of approaching him cautiously, edging closer as he walks into the center of the trail to meet me halfway.
He snatches my wrists, holding me in place, leering at me suggestively.
I glance around the camp, now that I'm close enough to see it through the trees, judging how large a group it actually is. I count two dozen at least. A large force for a bunch of thugs like this.
"Miss? C'mere and I'll show you a good time, pretty thing." He grabs my waist roughly, drawing me towards him, hands on my hips. He smiles toothily at me, pushing his hips into mine and groaning at the feeling.
He makes a show of groping me, "Ahhh...been a while since we've had such a pretty girl as yourself show up. How'd you get all the way out here, Missy?"
"Stumbling around in the dark," I say, rolling my eyes as the men jeer.
The one holding me sneers in my face and nips at my lips with his teeth. "Ooooh? Not very smart, are ya?" He grabs my wrist and squeezes hard. "Then again, not really what I'm interested in from you, sweet thing." His hands slide lower, cupping my butt.
"That hurts," I murmur.
"Tough luck, girl. I bet you'll make it up to me later tonight, though. Ain't that right?" He chuckles, rubbing his hands suggestively just about anywhere he pleases.
I smirk coldly, glancing at the weapon at his side. Short sword. Simple construction. They likely make their weapons themselves and spend their loot on luxuries instead of supplies and training.
The latter part is obvious, given he's entirely focused on grabbing me, instead of my clearly visible weapons.
I lean in close and whisper in his ear.
"Die."
With that, I slam my knee up into his groin.
The bandit stumbles backwards with a howl of pain, dropping my wrist and clutching his crotch.
Before anyone can react I yank my dagger from its sheath, the steel glinting in the moonlight as an arc of blood follows it's path.
A flick of my wrist sends it flying square at the throat of the next nearest bandit just as he begins to lurch aggressively toward me.
The splatter of blood paints my face.
Without a thought of hesitation, I charge into the startled camp of bandits, pulling my sword in a smooth and practiced movement.
My name is Diane.
A mercenary.
In my first life, I was unimportant and irrelevant and my husband cheated on me out of boredom.
In my second life, I was Ophelia, a rich and powerful young woman desperate to win the heart of my love, Viktor, only to watch the designated protagonist take him away without lifting a finger.
And this...this is my third life.
There's no cheat code, no system.
I don't have anything beyond the weapons I own and the training Roland gave me when I swore myself to be a mercenary.
This time, I live, truly live, in the real world, where I'm not a sheltered aristocrat, or a simpering villainess, or a pathetic spineless coward.
I am Diane.
And I will not let anyone else define me.