The Spirit Said, 'You're Unworthy as My Master, Cancel the Contract!' So I’ll Give It to My Sister Who Wants It - Episode 2.16

“It must be difficult for you, Your Highness.”

“…! You… Thomas?”

The man who was called—Prime Minister Thomas Gray—gently narrowed his eyes with a soft smile.

Thomas had just left the king’s bedroom, having passed Gilbert on his way out. It seemed he had been waiting here for Gilbert.

“His Majesty has been quite on edge lately. You didn’t have to criticize him so harshly… He was merely speaking out of concern for the future of this kingdom. Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”

“Ah… yes, that’s right. As the next king, I only voiced a reasonable opinion. I appreciate you, Thomas. You’ve always been the one to understand me.”

Thomas and Gilbert had known each other since before Gilbert could even remember. No matter what Gilbert did, Thomas had always supported him completely.

“Of course! You have the qualities of a true king!”

Receiving Thomas’s praise, Gilbert puffed out his chest with pride. As he did, Thomas quietly stepped closer and whispered in his ear.

“…You must become king, Your Highness. His Majesty intends to strip you of your right to the throne. If that happens, the people will mock you, scorn you, and you will die without accomplishing anything. In other words, His Majesty has essentially told you to ‘die.’ Think carefully about what that means.”

Gilbert gasped sharply at Thomas’s words. His face paled as he watched Thomas bow slightly and walk away.

Left alone, Gilbert thought. His father was trying to kill ‘the future king that he was meant to become.’

(I will never forgive this. What should I do… what can I do…?)

As he clutched his head in frustration, an idea suddenly surfaced.

His father, Doran, was already on the brink of death due to illness. If that was the case—

(He doesn’t have long to live anyway. A little shorter lifespan won’t make much difference, right, Father? It’s your fault for pushing me into a corner like this.)

If King Doran were to die, the next king would naturally be Crown Prince Gilbert.

“Haha… Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

A dry laugh echoed down the hallway. And then, a terrifying scheme took shape in Gilbert’s mind. He pushed himself away from the door and slowly started walking down the empty corridor, murmuring as if possessed.

“While I’m at it, I should erase Mistia as well, along with the others who have humiliated me. If I pin the king’s murder on them, every obstacle in my way will be gone.”

To him, it was the perfect plan. He wouldn’t have to dirty his own hands, Mistia would take the blame, and Doran would be eliminated. If he was going to be king, he couldn’t afford to be labeled a ‘king slayer.’ He had to grasp the scepter with clean hands.

“Ah, just imagining it makes me laugh. I truly am a genius—this is a perfect plan! I must act quickly and send an invitation to Mistia!”

His bright laughter echoed through the royal palace.

It felt as if the cloudy sky had finally cleared—Gilbert laughed, feeling refreshed. With high spirits, he set off to put his ‘perfect plan’ into motion.

—

Asteria, Redfield Territory

Mistia and her companions had left Fura Village and moved into the Redfield estate. To prevent the village’s fields from being plagued by disease again, Skia had cast a continuous purification spell, ensuring they wouldn’t have to worry about infestations for some time.

Solving the problem in Fura Village had significantly changed their relationship with Solm.

When the three of them left the estate, there had been clear tension between them. However, by the time they returned, the atmosphere had softened. This incident had likely helped ease Solm’s distrust of humans.

—It seemed as though peaceful days would continue.

However, fate was cruel. That brief tranquility was soon shattered.

One day—

“…Huh? Another letter?”

Mistia took the elegantly decorated envelope that Eileen handed her.

“Yes. A messenger from the royal palace delivered it.”

They were in the gazebo in the backyard. It had once been neglected, but Skia had restored it with magic, making it look as good as new. Mistia and the others were enjoying a leisurely afternoon tea there. Solm, though clearly uncomfortable, was also present.

“This time it’s from the royal palace… It’s different from the letter about Fura Village. This one seems to be an invitation.”

Skia, sharp-eyed as ever, quickly noticed the wax seal on the envelope Mistia was holding.

“The seal of Terre?”

At that word, the once relaxed atmosphere turned tense. For Solm, the name ‘Terre’ was a sore spot. Mistia glanced at him with concern as he lowered his head.

“Ah, I’ll check it later.”

“…No, you may open it now.”

But Solm gently declined her consideration.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I will find out sooner or later anyway.”

“…I understand.”

As Mistia cautiously opened the letter, a faint, elegant fragrance wafted out. At first, she read it normally, but as she continued, her expression grew increasingly grim.

The letter contained the following message—