Epilogue: The Story of Sharisha — The One Who Supports

"The True Daughter Has Returned, So I Have Decided to Disappear as the Adopted Daughter — Volume One: A Happy Past and the Virgin of the Barrier — Available Now on All Platforms"

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—The Affection of Lord Colloid—

I am the head of the House of Marquess Colloid. I inherited the family seat when I turned eighteen… upon reaching adulthood.

Our family has been a house of warriors for generations.

My late uncle, the previous head, devoted himself so fully to martial prowess that he neglected his wife and spent his days in martial training, never taking a wife or siring children.

That is why, though his strength and skill as a warrior earned respect, he was a rather ambiguous figure as a noble lord and a man.

I was named heir at the age of twelve, following in the footsteps of such a man.

As a child, I saw only my uncle’s face as a noble lord and a warrior. I was delighted to be recognized by the uncle I admired, and resolved all the more to hone my own skill.

I repeated the act of breaking into training halls—like a wandering swordsman—throughout my time at the academy, emulating my uncle’s example by seeking instruction from renowned warriors said to be strong.

In the summer of my fifteenth year, my uncle spoke of a noble’s child from the borderlands, said to be a prodigy. According to him, the child had mastered swordplay, staff techniques, horsemanship, and archery by the age of five, and could move with ease across the battlefield board—something even seasoned soldiers struggled to do. My uncle spoke of it with heavy breath, lamenting how such a talent was wasted.

I thought it a shame he was not given a post in the central military, but my uncle only said, with a knowing tone, “You’ll understand when you meet him.”

I set out for the Frontier County of Marl during the summer holiday, still unable to comprehend my uncle’s meaning. I rode on horseback for a long journey, my heart quickening with anticipation of the strength I would meet.

Upon arriving at the Frontier County of Marl, eager to duel with the prodigy, the Count gave me a sly, knowing smile and said, “Don’t hold back.”

I waited in the training yard, my red wristband fastened, my favored greatsword polished and ready, when the figure that emerged was a young girl with a face still damp from tears.

Her flaxen hair was tied in a single braid. Her armor—simplified from the standard military gear of the Frontier County—consisted of a light chest guard, knee guards, and a forehead plate. It was far lighter than the full plate of the imperial regular forces. A longsword and short sword, sized to her height, hung at her waist.

I had come expecting a mock battle, yet a full-fledged contest. I had imagined a heavy, metal war-armor, not this.

She could not possibly be mocking me.

Upon closer inspection, her features bore a striking resemblance to those of the border lord I had met earlier, and to his son, whom I had studied alongside at the academy.

I must have mistaken her for a messenger or some such from the lord’s household, and so I addressed her.

“Miss, I am waiting here for someone. Is there something you require?”

“Yes… um… I am Shalisha, daughter of Lord Marl. Today, I have come at my father’s command to spar with Sir Thomas. Please, lend me your chest.”

She bowed with perfect courtesy, and I was honestly bewildered.

I am a young man aiming for a military career. My height is nearly that of an adult, and I possess confidence in my skill and strength. Before me, this girl—though perhaps taller than most of her age—still seemed small and slender to me. I felt a tremor of unease, as if she might be swept away with a single blow.

The girl spoke as though my unease were nothing new, beginning to discuss the terms of the contest.

“Um… may we settle this with a single bout? In that case, all weapons are permitted except projectiles, provided their blades are blunted. The match ends if the opponent concedes, or if two or more stops are placed at vital points, or if the entire back is grounded… is that acceptable?”

I nodded, still uncertain, and assumed my stance. The match began as I wondered how best to hold back, and ended in ten seconds.

With a movement as if inviting me, she slipped into my wide swing, her blade’s tip slicing upward—just barely avoided by me. Then a heavy leg sweep struck my feet.

My balance faltered, but I steadied myself. In that instant, the tip of her blade pressed sharply against my throat.

“…I yield…”

I released the sword at once and raised my hands.

I had no defense against her skill—so precise, so far beyond what one might expect from a girl still too young to be called a woman. Her movements were sharp as a raptor’s gaze, supple as a predator’s, and her blade traced lines as graceful as a butterfly in flight.

I saw in her a warrior maiden, delicate yet fierce. I imagined wings upon her back. I thought her soul, after battle, would be carried to Valhalla. I felt a strange elation, despite having lost. I had never felt such a thing before.

And so, lost in such thoughts, she gave me a debate—what she called a “study match,” a discussion on the nature of simulated combat.

Thank you. Are your sword techniques derived from the Imperial School’s Coloid style? As I am new to the true Coloid tradition, I must apologize if my understanding from books has led me astray. Still, I have read that a broad overhead strike can be sufficient to intimidate an opponent. Yet even with your restraint, your movements seem monotonous and excessively large. It appears you have not often fought against multiple opponents at once. I sensed unnecessary pauses in your motions… could that be the very gap in timing the Coloid style is known for?

I was surprised that she had read not only my style but even my personal habits, simply from a single slash. Yet at the same time, I felt a quiet joy in being able to speak of martial arts with such fervor. After my momentary shock, she seemed to grow flustered, her face turning crimson, and murmured, “I apologize—such a rude intrusion,” shrinking slightly. The contrast between that moment and her earlier bearing as a warrior could not help but bring a smile to my lips.

Afterward, I challenged her again and again! The first time, I struck without hesitation, yet she effortlessly parried every blow.

Long sword, short sword, bow, staff, cane, even the war fan—each was cleanly defeated.

I was so thoroughly impressed by her skill that I felt no anger, only a clear, refreshing awe.

She took no delight in defeating others, nor did she boast. Instead, she asked gently whether her opponent had been harmed—her kindness only deepened my admiration.

In her daily life, she was nothing like the one in the training grounds—she was a cautious herbivore, like a horned hare or a moonlit field mouse. I found this aspect of her more pleasing, more true to her nature.

That summer, the long vacation passed in an instant.

The following year, I aimed once more for the Frontier County of Marle.

And I was defeated by her—more supple now than the year before.

I made my resolve then. I wished to spend my life with this girl. To stand closest to her, to support her talent. I had fallen in love with her strength, with her beauty, and decided to court her.

The first year, Lord Marle himself rejected me outright: “I will not give my daughter to one who cannot best me.” I had come so close in the mock battle, yet still fell short.

Yet I had shown something—permission to exchange letters was granted.

I gripped the unfamiliar pen with desperate care, striving to pierce her heart with every word I wrote.

At last, in the year when I neared adulthood and was set to inherit the family estate the following year, I managed to strike a single blow against Lord Marle, the border lord.

The year after, at the time of my inheritance, I finally secured permission for our engagement. Yet by then, she had already buried her own talent beneath silence. What a waste… Had she possessed such a gift, she might have risen to become a general or a strategist…

A faint sorrow lingered. Yet still, I wished only to remain at her side. To the outside world, it might appear a political alliance. There was the age difference, and our houses were not equal. I would accept that willingly. The charge of being a pedophile, I could not deny. But it was weakness born of being utterly captivated by her strength and beauty.

She dedicated herself to becoming a proper lady, setting aside her sword and striving with earnest. She grew into a woman of grace and beauty. Her debut was hosted by the royal family, and she was on close terms with the Princess Royal, forming deep bonds with other noble young women desired by the court. Yet they do not know the true beauty of my betrothed. It is regrettable, but it also brought a quiet sense of superiority.

When she was enjoying her youth as a student, I found myself meddling even in her friendships. I claimed it was for her sake, yet I failed to see through the essence of my own actions—how pitiful I was.

I was ashamed of forgetting how much more perceptive she was than I.

She was cautious to the point of allowing only those she truly believed in to stand near her. Above all, I felt a pang of envy at how thoroughly she seemed to enjoy her student life—so much so that she rarely thought of me.

It was she and her closest friend who guided me through that narrow passage. Even the prince I revered as my lord lent her his strength. I smiled, admitting with quiet grace that I was no match for her.

When she reached adulthood, a turning point arrived. Her close friend, the noble lady, achieved unparalleled feats as the Virgin of the Barrier. Inspired by this, my betrothed began to move as well—like a cocoon finally breaking free from its long-held shell, her transformation was nothing short of extraordinary.

She completed studies that should have taken six years in just one. Her swordsmanship, once unremarkable, now grew sharper than before.

She mastered subtlety and psychological strategy, and in the military chessboard, those of her age who could challenge her vanished in an instant.

Though initially assigned below her true worth due to interference from an absurdly pompous officer, she carried out her duties without faltering or growing bitter.

Three years after she came of age, we were wed. It truly filled me with joy that she at last belonged to me—yet even more so that she now moved freely, unburdened, in her work.

She says she cannot match men in strength, yet defeats them through skill and instinct. Most of all, I cannot fathom how many moves ahead her military mind calculates.

I wish to be her spear—yet also her shield, guarding her for life.

So that her brilliance may never again be dimmed.

—The Maiden of the Teacher and the Military Chessboard—

"Five-nine, crossbow; five-ten, trebuchet. Five-ten, four-ten, piece removed. And six-ten, well destroyed."

Hmm… intriguing. A young man who still plays with such substance, as ever…

Countless pieces are scattered across the board.

Each one appears disconnected, yet bound together by countless fine threads, invisible to the eye.

I move one of my own pieces quietly.

The noblewoman opposite enters deep thought.

A quiet yet fervent battle unfolds upon the board.

Her white fingers strike an unexpected piece.

Hmm… she is tempting me. Her play is solid, yet occasionally bold. But that is well. To understand attack as part of defense, not merely to stand firm—this is most commendable.

Yet her calculation is weak.

I play my ace piece.

A few moves ahead, her hand halts.

For a fleeting moment, her eyes widen—then close softly.

“I yield, my lord general. I am still no match for you. I shall strive harder.”

She forces a wry smile, her expression a quiet testament to frustration.

Simply a matter of age—though seasoned with the stubbornness and cunning of years, she secretly exhales, relieved to have secured a single victory today.

This clarity is admirable. And her ability to foresee several moves ahead is truly remarkable.

How many times have I wished to introduce her as my granddaughter, had she not already been promised to another.

Indeed, my grandson once declared with childish disdain, “I dislike women who wield swords as if they were men!”—a foolish notion. Such a one is utterly unworthy of her. How often have I lamented, had I but been fifty years younger.

I am utterly dismayed by the shallowness of my grandson’s vision—so blind to what lies beyond his immediate sight. It is said his stubbornness stems from having lost to her, whether in military drills or academy practice—but what a narrow mind he has grown into… even I could not foresee that.

She—Major Sharisha—is truly a prodigy of innate talent. Even I, in my youth, heard tales of her and once sought a single match against her. At the time, I, a general entrusted with the role of strategist, was forced into a perilous gamble against a child still unmarked by debut. Such was the brilliance of her mind. To have underestimated her and then lost in a single misstep—this was the original error.

That she should dedicate such talent to the service of the nation, volunteering for military duty—this should have been welcomed with open arms by the realm.

Yet the minds of the nation’s… no, the military’s… so rigid, so inflexible. All acknowledge her brilliance. And yet, for no reason other than her gender, they seek to dismiss it entirely. Half the world is made of women. Talent is not the exclusive domain of men. They are, truly, foolish beyond measure.

Even to have such people in high command is absurd—within this circle, they hold influence, and that is laughable.

One cannot help but want to ask those who now dismiss her: how many among them could truly defeat her?

No, I have even said it aloud, standing beside her betrothed.

They would only stammer excuses—claiming they never meant it, that it would be unchivalrous to draw steel against a woman—fleeing from the truth with feeble words.

Compared to such men, her betrothed—soon to become her husband, Lord Colloid—has a depth of spirit that is admirable.

Even he, skilled in swordplay, laughs at how he cannot match her. To have one of his own kin take such interest in her is a source of pride for the entire family.

I wish I could boil down the dirt beneath the nails of those two and force it down the throats of the stubborn old aristocrats who cling to their rank and lineage like fools.

The military is no longer held in the same regard within the empire as it once was. The nation has long relied on the protection of the barrier to maintain peace, and the prevailing culture has always valued form over practical combat. Thanks to the great accomplishments of the High Saintess, the frontier regions have stabilized, and the military has diminished in strength to nearly nothing. While it is naturally noble that the nation no longer needs the military, such idealism cannot sustain a country. There must always be a sufficient number maintained for public order, the protection of dignitaries, and manpower in times of crisis. And there is also the flow of the economy, which turns only because we are here.

They, the fools of old, have grown complacent, resting on their inherited privileges, believing that what has been will remain forever—blind to the truth that the world does not stand still.

The empire’s military will surely shrink in the years ahead. In times of peace, an army becomes nothing more than a vast belly—mere gluttons, gold-eaters. If that is so, the reduction of personnel becomes inevitable. Gathering together those fools who cannot comprehend even such a truth is no small task.

If the future is one of diminishing ranks, then gathering exceptional talent becomes equally inevitable.

Moreover, in the coming years, more female knights will be needed. The realm within the barrier is relatively safe. Thus, protection of high-ranking officials will become the primary duty. High-ranking individuals come in both genders, yet many prefer knights of their own sex. The number of female knights must increase accordingly.

It is precisely at such a time that I wish for someone like Major Sharisha to lead the way, a guide ahead.

That is my hope. May the future ahead be bright—for the nation, and for her.

With such thoughts, I shall continue to entrust her, to shelter her beneath my wing.

Though, were she to remain under my wing, she would soon take flight, no doubt.

Yet I shall carry pride in having sheltered her, even for a moment, throughout the remainder of my days.

For that reason, I must begin now by silencing those unworthy fools. This shall be my final reform as her strategist. And I shall train her—everything I can pass on, from foresight to read several moves ahead, from the use of traps to the art of devious tactics.

It is regrettable that I cannot foresee the future beyond this one step, yet I do not believe I have misread the path.

The master, with his white, ample beard, narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the young woman before him.

Thank you for reading.

This became a tale of whispered words between Count Colloid and the Marshal.

Count Colloid, I suppose, intended to write this with Jill in mind as a contrast.

The image of Count Colloid striving to protect the one he wishes to dedicate his heart to, facing danger head-on in devotion, contrasted with Jill’s image of defiling and corrupting the one to whom she offers her heart from behind.

Whether either finds happiness is, of course, beyond question.

Next week, I plan to write about the reunion between Sharisha and Spica, concluding the side story for now.

After that, I intend to post fragments about the Empress and stories from the past of Mrs. Subroza.

And perhaps, gradually, begin another tale as well.

I look forward to your continued support.