I transmigrated into a romance fantasy novel as a nameless Eastern swordsman.

My role?

One line in the epilogue, where I die saving the East.

I'd rather not.

So instead of throwing my life away for a heroic ending nobody will remember, I head to the Empire to live comfortably.

And since I've always wanted to play the part of a mysterious master, I decide to have a little fun with it.

A blindfold that lets me see while making everyone else think I'm blind. A secluded residence. A quiet personality. Just enough strength to look impressive without attracting too much attention.

Perfect.

At least, it would be, if saving Evelyn, the novel's supposed villainess, didn't catch the attention of her chief knight, Sera.

Now Sera is investigating the mysterious swordsman behind the rumors of a legendary Grand Sword Master.

Meanwhile, I'm perfectly happy pretending to be a blind, retired old master.

I'm just not sure how long I can keep everyone from realizing that the act is working a little too well.