Although I remember my death in this life, I don't remember the time between, only darkness. The memory of my past lives returned to me during a fire that took away this life's parents. I suppose it was the shock of losing everything that triggered the memories. Whatever the reason, it was poor timing, as I needed to rescue my little sister from the flames, and the shock nearly caused me to lose her, too.

In the aftermath, we were taken in by a group of mercenaries who were tracking the warlord that burned the city. In particular one man took a shining to myself and my sister. The leader of the band of mercenaries, Roland. Gruff, no-nonsense, but kindhearted deep beneath those layers of unapproachable gruffness.

Like always, I'm an unimportant nobody. Just another NPC suffering from what the important people do with the world. Despite that, Roland took me under his wing and taught me how to be a mercenary like him. As for my little sister...she didn't want to be a mercenary, but he treated her as kindly and just as protective as he had me.

In this life, I'm not rich, or important, or blessed with magic or anything else. I'm not beautiful like Ophelia was, or even average like Adelaide. I'm too masculine and rugged, too scarred from my life of hard labor to even be average looking.

I am Diane. A mercenary. One of the best, not because of any talent but because I had the very best there to teach me.

I don't have any advanced plans for this life, I don't recognize this world at all.

There is one thing, though.

I absolutely will not.

Ever.

Be taken in by the lie called love.

Not ever again.

Love is a foolish trap and one I refuse to get caught in again. I don't know why I ever fell for it twice already but I refuse to repeat the mistake again.

"Diane," Roland grumbles, subtly elbowing me.

I glance his way briefly before I follow his eyes and immediately find the reason he's nudged me.

An absolute beauty sits on a stool at the bar of this tavern, leaning over and gesturing for another drink while smiling playfully at the bartender. She has the typical sort of flawless looks a princess has - blond hair, blue eyes, lovely smile. Her hair is just barely out of place and there are traces of sweat on her brow like she's been in the heat for awhile. Her dress looks fine, well-tailored to fit her shape, hugging all her curves but leaving plenty of skin covered so as not to come off indecent. Her corset pushes her breasts upward and she isn't shy about using that to get a free drink.

"Roland," he is something of a surrogate father to me - even moreso Talia, who can't remember our parents at all- but he's always insisted on just using his name. "If you tell me one word about your conquest...I will walk away and never speak to you again."

Despite his gruff manner, he grins widely at me, elbowing me again. "C'mon! Don't be like that, Diane!" Roland bellows as he gets to his feet and strides up to the bar, ordering himself a drink before he turns to the woman seated next to him.

Her eyes flash with amusement when she sees Roland and she leans against the countertop, cocking her head at him. "Oh? Who's this? I thought you already got your drink..." she asks with a light giggle.

I roll my eyes and smother an amused smile as I shake my head and turn my attention elsewhere. How Roland manages such raw charisma at his age I don't know, and I'd really rather not think about it.

I lean back on my stool, tipping the last of the beer in my cup down my throat, and get to my feet. Roland's antics are funny to watch, but they always get the same result. The lady of the evening will tease him until he offers her some money and she'll accept it and he'll end the evening by paying her and pretending to be some big shot nobleman. The routine never varies. He's lucky I like him too much to tell him this, because I could eviscerate that man....though....no, he would probably shrug it off.

Honestly...that old coot. He's old enough to be her father, maybe even her grandfather.

The cool night air greets me as I exit the tavern, sighing quietly in relief. The night is brisk, which feels good after a day in the heat.

The night breeze has an unfamiliar scent to it. The town of Aldridge is small compared to the capitol of the kingdom, a mere provincial outpost by comparison. It's surrounded by a dense wooded area which provides a decent amount of lumber for sale, giving it healthy trade routes. As a mercenary, trader routes are my bread-and-butter. There's nothing easier than getting paid to ride alongside a merchant and intimidate enemies into not attacking a caravan full of goods.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Well - vault guarding is easier.

But I'd rather not be bored to tears for a living.

I make a gesture to the town gate guards, showing my identification as a mercenary. "Heading out into the woods."

The guard nods understandingly, letting me pass through. "Stay safe, Miss Diane."

I offer a flippant wave as I stroll out the gates and down the path towards the forest.

As a mercenary, there are two options for me. Either I take the more stable jobs in town and become a permanent part of the city's security detail, or I go out into the wilderness and seek work. It's better to do the latter, as it allows me to increase my fame and reputation in the region and allow people to hire me to defend their caravans. I prefer traveling, to be honest. Maybe because Roland traveled while we were young, maybe because I don't like being tied down to one place. Talia moved back into our old town once it was rebuilt and she was old enough to do so, but I don't have the sentimentality she does. How can a hometown mean anything when you've lived three lives in different worlds?

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.

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.

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.