The Spirit Said, 'You're Unworthy as My Master, Cancel the Contract!' So I’ll Give It to My Sister Who Wants It - Episode 1.23

Skia learned that the shabby girl’s name was Mistia.

As an uncontracted spirit, a vague existence known as a “Ghost,” he could not stray far from his master. Because of this, Skia was able to learn not only her name but also a few details about Mistia’s circumstances.

Her day began with gathering firewood.

In the early morning, as fresh snow fell, she worked until her hands turned red. When that task was done, she prepared meals—not for herself, but for the two people living in the mansion. After delivering their food, she would clean and carry out other duties, living the life of a typical maid. Skia never questioned this.

Not until he learned that Mistia Redfield was a noble lady by birth.

The first hint of something amiss came when another noble girl in the house, Alisha, called Mistia “Sister.”

(It had already seemed strange that a mere maid was managing the household ledgers, but now it made sense.)

His suspicions were confirmed when he realized that the woman in the portrait displayed in the grand hall—the one Mistia often gazed at—was her mother.

“Mother…”

The same violet eyes. Judging by the way she spoke, Mistia’s mother was likely deceased. In the empty grand hall, Mistia called out for her, a pitiful sight. She had lost her parents, and now she lived in a house stolen by her uncle. Stripped of her noble dignity, treated as nothing more than a servant—her days as a mere maid were slowly crushing her.

And Mistia had accepted it.

Skia found it tragic, but he dismissed it as something that had nothing to do with him.

What mattered more to him was the peace of living away from the battlefield. And so, a year, then two, passed.

Then, one day, something within Skia began to stir.

“Hey, woman. When the hell are you going to let me use magic?”

“…I am truly sorry.”

The spirit with burning red hair, Shaitan, loomed over Mistia.

His cold gaze held not a shred of affection for his master. Mistia lowered her head, shutting her eyes tightly.

“‘I’m sorry’ isn’t good enough! I want to go out and crush monsters already. Ugh, why did I have to be summoned by such a useless master? I thought summoning three high-ranking spirits meant you were something special… What a waste of a contract.”

“I truly regret this. However, if you use magic now, my body won’t withstand it. If that happens, your existence, as well as everyone else’s, will be in danger… I will work harder, so please, be patient.”

“Tch, the fact that we vanish when our master dies is the worst part of this whole deal.”

With those final words, Shaitan left.

The corridor of the Redfield mansion was silent, leaving only Mistia and the Ghost behind. She stood there, staring at Shaitan’s retreating figure, making no move to stop him.

For some reason, Skia suddenly wondered—What kind of expression is she wearing right now? He peeked at her face and widened his eyes slightly.

There, he saw sadness—and love for Shaitan.

(Even after he said something so cruel?)

Maybe it was just his imagination. But at that moment, he was certain of it. It wasn’t the love of romance, but Mistia loved Shaitan and the others.

When he realized this, something black and viscous boiled up from the depths of Skia’s heart.

(Why does she love them? They don’t deserve her love! If it were me, I would never let her make that face…!)

He couldn’t accept it.

Because Skia had been the one watching Mistia’s efforts from the closest distance.

No matter how cold the days were, she never let the fire die out. She preserved the house, continued learning, and never asked for anything. The joyful moments a girl her age should have experienced—she had given them all to the spirits. While the stepsister who had stolen her place indulged in pleasure, Mistia endured everything in silence. And the violence from her uncle—she bore it alone, just to keep the spirits from disappearing.

Skia wanted to kill that uncle for being such a nuisance, but manifesting himself would drain Mistia’s magic.

And that would mean her death.

Mistia had given Skia peace.

Even though they had never exchanged a single word. But over the years, like ice melting, she had soothed his wounds.

And from that moment on, Skia thought—

“I want to be the one to receive Mistia’s love.”

Like a beast wandering the desert in search of water, Skia yearned for Mistia’s love. His throat burned with thirst, desperate to be seen by her. He wanted so badly to be the one she looked at, while the spirits were simply loved as if it were natural—without even realizing it, they resented her.

“Ah, I want to erase them. Everything that makes you suffer.”

If he did, would she finally look at him with those eyes?

He reached out, his transparent fingers brushing against her cheek.

At some point, Mistia had become the most precious thing in the world to him.