Let's Become a Reclusive Master

Romance.

If romance had never existed in this world, humanity would never have reached the moon.

The Wright brothers would never have dreamed of taking to the sky, and mankind might never have advanced as swiftly as it has.

A world that chases only immediate profit, that looks at everything through pure reason alone—wouldn't that be unbearably dull?

There's a reason the word romanticism came into being. It means romance is something humanity can never truly separate itself from.

And here stands a world where that romance has been driven to its absolute extreme.

A romance fantasy world where love makes everything turn.

That's only my personal opinion, of course. Still, I can't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠think of many things as inefficient, as irrational—and therefore as romantic—as love.

Anyway.

The preamble ran a little long, but the point is this: I have transmigrated into that romance-soaked world.

And not as anyone important. I became a bit-part character who shows up near the final chapter, only to die in a single line.

The world I landed in belongs to one of those dime-a-dozen female-oriented romance fantasy novels.

It does have one peculiar twist, though. Near the end, the world nearly gets destroyed once. The heroine and her companions manage to protect the Empire they live in, and the story wraps up with a roughly sketched crisis averted and a happy ending.

Along the way, the situations in other nations get a brief mention as well.

That's it. No name, no face, nothing properly known about him. Just a single line of setting: somewhere in the Far East there was one absurdly strong guy, and because he fought with his life on the line, that region somehow scraped by as well.

And I became that nameless swordsman.

The strongest blade in the Far East, who faced a calamity alone. Who fought to the last in a place no one would ever know, and died a glorious death.

Man. The romance on that one is off the charts.

However.

"Absolutely not."

A lofty swordsman who single-handedly protected a nation in a place no one would ever hear about? Sure. Cool. But if you die, what does any of that even mean?

I have no intention of dying for a sacrifice like that.

By the time the world is on the brink of ruin, the protagonists will handle protecting the Empire on their own. All I have to do is leave the Far East before then and head for wherever they are.

A sense of duty to defend the Far East? Where would I get something like that? You need to be alive to protect romance in the first place.

Well, if I prepared ahead of time, I could probably save both my life and the Far East. But why would I?

If I just slip over to the protagonists' side early, I can survive in comfort without dying at all.

More than anything else—

I wrapped my hand around the hilt of the sword hanging at my left hip.

And then.

Shing.

The moment I drew the blade even a fraction, the world stopped.

More precisely, it slowed so drastically it felt as if it had stopped. Leaves tumbling on the wind hung frozen in midair. Even the birds in the sky went still.

In that slowed world I walked at a leisurely pace, swung my sword, and returned to where I had been standing.

Click.

I slid the blade back into its scabbard.

"……"

Only then did the world reclaim its original speed. For a moment I gazed out over the forest, then opened my mouth.

"…Slow. Even at falling."

Rumble—!

Belatedly, trees dozens of paces away toppled all at once.

"Hell yeah. This is it!"

I'm supposed to throw my life away defending the Far East when I've got power like this? That would be an insult to this body.

A footwork swordsman running Standesvasten? How am I supposed to hold back with this?

Let me be perfectly clear: I have not the slightest intention of saving the world with this power.

There's something far more fun and far more important to do.

Namely, concept-play.

The kind of reclusive master who lives quietly with his skill hidden, then draws his sword just once in a blue moon and leaves everyone around him stunned.

Obviously I can't go around flaunting that I'm a master. If everyone figures ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it out, I'm not a reclusive master—I'm just a master.

The fun is in dropping just enough hints that only a handful of sharp people barely catch on, while I myself act like I don't know a thing.

There's something off about that guy…

Is he hiding something?

And when that suspicion hits its peak—boom. You drop the reveal at the critical moment. That's how you make it entertaining.

Come to think of it, I've always liked this sort of thing.

Back in high school I scored nothing but bottom-tier nines for three straight years, then pulled perfect top marks across every subject on the college entrance exam. The looks on my homeroom teacher's and classmates' faces that day were a delicacy I'll never taste again.

And it wasn't just school.

Same thing with games. My real rank was Grandmaster, but I'd slip into customs full of Golds and Platinums and desperately hide my skill—throw a few convenient mistakes, die at reasonable intervals. Then, every so often, I'd let a little of the real thing show, and people would ask:

Hey, SwiftPrecision, are you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sure you're actually Platinum? Your skillshots and movement don't look like this tier at all.

And in that moment I'd answer like it was nothing:

Ah, that's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'cause I'm a one-trick top Lulu. Anything else and I'm basically Silver.

Then I'd pull out a classic top laner, feed my brains out once, and every last shred of suspicion would vanish.

Some people might ask why I live like that.

My answer is simple.

Because… it's fun!

In any case.

Someone like me has been handed overwhelming physical ability and a romance fantasy world where no one knows who I am. How could I possibly turn down a chance to live even more entertainingly than in my past life?

And so, from this moment on, I will operate as a reclusive master from the Far East.

There is just one problem.

I can't even pretend to be weak.

That's right. This body radiates an atmosphere that anyone can tell is anything but ordinary.

To pull off the reclusive-master act, you first have to stay out of sight—and more than anything, you can't look strong. If I walk around practically screaming I am strong, there's nothing left to enjoy.

So I devised a solution.

"From now on, I am a blind swordsman."

Sight is critically important to a swordsman. Well, sight is important in just about every profession—but for a swordsman it matters especially because of distance control.

You gauge position and spacing from only a few paces away from your opponent. You find a split-second opening and drive a cut into it. Covering your eyes means throwing away one of those vital senses entirely.

In other words, simply being a blind swordsman is enough to make people assume you're weak.

"But if I genuinely can't see, I can't do anything."

Unfortunately, this body doesn't come with the ability to sense vibrations or detect ki. If I cover my eyes, I really won't be able to see a thing. Even concept-play requires being able to see what's in front of you before you can do anything else.

Which means the very first thing I need to do is—

"Make an eyepatch that looks covered to everyone else, but leaves my own vision completely clear."

Sunglasses would have been a fine substitute, but they felt far too alien for a Far Eastern swordsman. In the end, an eyepatch was the only real choice.

"Besides, an eyepatch is basically the national rule for blind swordsmen anyway."

And with that, I set out on a journey to craft a disguise eyepatch.

On the road back from the Rosehart Duchy to the capital.

Sera sat her horse with the reins in hand and glanced to the side.

A black carriage rolled slowly along the well-kept road, and inside it rode the young lady of House Rosehart—the woman Sera served.

Golden hair, striking beauty, and vast wealth and power on top of it. She had been born with everything most people could spend a lifetime chasing and still never obtain. She ought to have been someone people envied.

But thanks to the endless rumors clinging to her name, what she received day after day was less envy than abuse.

Arrogant. Foul-tempered. She dismissed servants on the spot if they displeased her. And she was pathologically obsessed with the crown prince.

Because of those rumors, the nickname the social world had pinned on her was far from kind.

The Villainess of Rosehart.

Sera hated that such a name had stuck to her.

Of course, if someone asked whether her mistress was a gentle person… she couldn't exactly answer yes without hesitation. Evelyn's temper was difficult, her pride ran high, and when her mood soured she had no shortage of moments when she turned sharp edges on the people around her.

Still, she's nowhere near as wicked as people make her out to be.

Sera genuinely believed that.

It had already been six years since she began serving as Evelyn's escort. Now chief escort knight, she knew better than anyone how far the rumors diverged from the real woman.

"Dame Sera."

While she was lost in thought, the knight riding beside her drew closer.

"What is it?"

"The horses seem a little tired. It may be best to rest nearby for a short while."

Sera looked down the long stretch of road ahead. Two days remained to the capital. If they pushed, they could reach the next city before nightfall—but there was no need to drive the horses that hard.

"Very well. Find us a suitable place to stop."

"Yes, ma'am."

The knight bowed politely and rode ahead. Sera turned her gaze back toward the carriage.

Before long the lead knight found a decent clearing by the roadside, and the party drew the carriage to a halt. Sera dismounted and rolled her stiff shoulders in a light stretch. The knights under her command climbed down as well to rest; a few watered the horses.

That was when a man entered her field of vision from across the road.

He wore black garments of a cut rarely seen in the Empire—long, trailing sleeves and hems of a style she had never encountered. A single sword hung at his waist, and that too was different from Imperial blades: long, slender, and curved.

Most striking of all was that both his eyes were bound in black cloth, yet there was not the slightest hesitation in his stride.

A blind man walking that straight? And from the look of it, that sword isn't just for show.

Come to think of it, she had heard that the Far East possessed techniques for sensing one's surroundings without relying on sight. Between the unfamiliar clothes and the oddly shaped sword, the man was almost certainly using such a technique to navigate the terrain.

Sera was briefly curious what Far Eastern arts were like—but her interest stopped there. She was already at a level close to Sword Master; other people's techniques held little appeal, and she no longer had time to dabble in other paths. Reaching Sword Master as quickly as possible was her goal.

Still, he's a fairly unusual one.

Leaving only that mild impression, she turned her attention back to her party.

In that instant—

Rustle.

Something moved deeper in the forest. Sera snapped into a combat stance and ordered her knights at once.

"All hands, on guard."

At her command the resting knights rose immediately. Sera drew the sword at her hip and fixed her eyes on the trees where the sound had come from.

Rustle.

The undergrowth shook hard once more—

Grrrrr…

—and a beast's low growl rolled out right after.

"Magic beasts!"

Someone shouted, and in the same breath a massive wolf burst from the brush. Dark red fur, fangs jutting long past its jaws. Its body was easily twice the size of an ordinary wolf. Sera kept her tension tight and gripped her sword hard.

Two more wolves of the same shape shoved through the foliage after it.

"There's more than one! Keep them away from the carriage!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

At Sera's cry the knights moved as one. She dropped low toward the magic beast charging at the front. A moment later the wolf kicked off the ground—

BOOM!

—and in the distance that closed in a heartbeat, Sera stepped aside and swung.

Slash!

Her blade bit deep into the beast's foreleg. As the creature lost its balance and tumbled, she drove her sword straight into its throat.

Thrust!

"One."

She wrenched the blade free and spun in the same motion. The other knights were already engaging the remaining beasts in groups. Fortunately there weren't many. At this rate, she thought, they could finish them without casualties.

Until a frantic shout cut through the air.

"My lady!"

Sera whipped her head toward the voice. A magic beast slightly smaller than the first had somehow broken free and was already racing for the carriage.

Damn it—there was another one!

The beast launched itself at the carriage.

CRASH!

Its body slammed into the side panel. The startled horses reared and thrashed; the carriage tipped hard to one side.

"Kyaa!"

A short scream came from inside—then the door burst open and Evelyn scrambled out.

And of all moments, the magic beast's eyes locked onto her the instant she appeared.

"My lady!"

Terror-stricken, Sera kicked off the ground with everything she had. The beast sprang at Evelyn—

"Kh—!"

—and by a hair's breadth Sera threw herself between them and took the attack. She swung her sword at once—

Huh?

Thud.

The magic beast's head and body came apart in an instant.

In that same moment, Sera felt a dissonance she could not put into words.

She had definitely cut the beast. She had clearly felt the blade bite into its neck. And yet—

Her strike could never have produced a cut this clean. More than that, Sera knew her own skill better than anyone. From that rushed, off-balance posture, severing a head the way it had just been severed was simply beyond her.

And still the torso had slid past her side as if to show off and rolled across the ground.

"……"

Sera stared at the beast's head for a beat, then snapped back to herself.

"My lady!"

She spun and hurried to Evelyn.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Just startled, that's all."

Only then did Sera let out a short breath of relief.

"Thank goodness."

Evelyn, for her part, looked Sera up and down.

"And you?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked if you're hurt."

"…I'm all right."

"Then that's fine."

Evelyn's reply was curt. Sera's gaze drifted back to the severed head on the ground.

My blade shouldn't be able to cut that deep…

Moreover, her sword had definitely come up on a diagonal from below. The cut now exposed was almost perfectly horizontal.

"As expected of Dame Sera."

A knight who had rushed over a moment too late spoke in admiration.

"To take the head clean off even from a desperate charge like that…"

"……"

What on earth…?

Instead of answering the awestruck knight, Sera looked down at her own sword.

"…Dame Sera?"

Ah.

Meeting the knight's puzzled stare, she answered,

"Save the praise. Check for wounded first. We clear this quickly and move on."

She flicked the blood from her blade and sheathed it.

"Yes, ma'am."

The knights scattered at once. Sera checked on Evelyn once more, then swept her eyes over the surroundings.

And as she did, the man who had been walking across the road earlier came back into view.

The man with both eyes bound in black cloth. He was still strolling along at an unhurried pace.

That blind man from before…

Then Sera's gaze snagged on his clothes. Fabric that had been clean only moments ago now bore several red flecks.

Blood?

Not dried and old—fresh, as if it had just spattered.

Sera frowned, unsettled.

Don't tell me… that man cut down the magic beast just now?

A blind man carrying a sword had already struck her as odd, but—

Impossible. That can't be.

She shook her head and dismissed the thought that had flickered up. The distance between them was far too great. To sever a magic beast's neck from that far away, at a speed her own eyes couldn't even track?

Unless he were a Grand Sword Master, it simply wasn't possible.

And Grand Sword Masters were mythical figures even in the Empire—legends spoken of in stories, not flesh-and-blood people. Some blind wanderer on the roadside could not possibly be a monster like that.

Having settled the matter in her mind, Sera turned her back on him.

"Sera. What are you doing?"

Evelyn called from behind her.

"…Nothing, my lady."

Not long after, once the magic beasts' corpses had been cleared away, the party set out again.

Clop, clop.

The steady rhythm of hooves. Sera rode on with a lingering unease she could not shake, turning the battle over and over in her mind.