By Her Grace – a progressive Isekai Light Novel

The Cost Of Control

Grace sat in the waiting chamber above the estate dungeon, sipping tea in silence.

The room was quiet, but not peaceful, too many thoughts stirred behind her still expression. The porcelain cup clicked softly as she set it back onto its saucer, her gaze drifting to the heavy door.

They should arrive any moment now, she mused.

She had received word earlier: Lady Callaire would be coming for her supervised visit, as requested. And not alone, of course. A girl would accompany her; young, common-born, but apparently important enough to warrant mention. Grace hadn't bothered to ask more. The name wasn't listed in the reply.

She leaned back slightly, one leg crossed over the other, and let her thoughts wander.

So… how should this go?

It was tricky, she had to admit. On the one hand, she was curious, genuinely so. Leon's behavior had shifted since the last incident. After that moment of contact, when the divine spark had surged from her into him, something changed. He looked at her differently now. Like she wasn't just his captor… but something more.

A goddess.

Grace tilted her head slightly, fingers brushing her cheek.

It was unexpected. Intriguing. Unsettling. And potentially useful.

If she could understand what happened—if she could replicate the effect—then Leon wouldn't be the last to kneel. But…

He looks like a mess, she thought with irritation. And if Callaire sees him in that state…

There'd be questions. Questions about his condition. About his injuries. About the long weeks he spent locked away beneath the estate.

Grace had no desire to tie herself to that narrative.

So, she crafted a simple story. Not particularly convincing, but it didn't have to be. Leon would carry it well enough. He would say he fell. That it was an accident. The guards were to blame, distracted, negligent, cruel. It wouldn't matter if it sounded convenient. What mattered was she wasn't in it.

And what could anyone prove?

She brought the cup back to her lips, took a slow sip, then frowned.

Ugh. Rose again?

The scent still clung to her skin from this morning. Elyne's new perfume. It was too sweet, too floral. Grace wrinkled her nose. Maybe she'd ask Callaire if she sold anything sharper, less delicate. Something Elyne might wear without giving Grace a headache.

A knock at the door.

Grace set the cup down, folded her hands in her lap, and smiled faintly.

One of the knights knocked, then stepped in and bowed.

"My Lady. Lady Callaire has arrived."

Grace nodded calmly. "I'll be there shortly."

The knight bowed again and withdrew.

Grace set her teacup aside and rose from her chair. She smoothed the folds of her crimson gown with a practiced motion, then walked to the tall mirror at the far wall.

The reflection staring back at her was lovely, poised, but… too formal. Her lips formed a cool smile. She slapped her cheeks lightly with both hands—smack, smack—and forced the color up.

Another smile. Softer this time. Innocent. Wide-eyed.

Better, she thought. Much better.

Grace stepped into the corridor, her pace steady. Her knights waited at the door, and beyond them knelt Lady Callaire, as etiquette demanded. Beside her was a girl—dark-haired, plainly dressed, posture low to the polished floor.

Grace let a smile curl on her lips, bright and amused.

"Raise your heads," she said lightly. "I was awaiting you for our little dungeon trip."

They obeyed, heads lifting slowly.

Grace regarded them both with calm delight.

"I was touched by how much you care for your commoner apprentice, Lady Callaire," she continued cheerfully. "So of course, I couldn't resist granting your wish and checking on things together with you."

Her tone was warm, gracious—but beneath the surface, it gleamed with quiet precision.

"Shall we?"

The knights took their places behind them. Grace walked beside Lady Callaire, the girl trailing behind Lady Callaire without a word.

They descended through the prison wing, into the heart of the dungeon. The air cooled with each step. Stone halls turned darker, rougher, the scent of torch oil clinging to the air.

Grace hummed lightly, almost as if leading a guest through a parlor instead of a dungeon.

"And who might this quiet little shadow be?" she asked, voice pleasant but detached.

"My second apprentice. Her name is Rin. She's been assisting me since Leon's... absence," Callaire said after a moment. "She wished to come. Leon was close to her."

How touching, Grace thought and glancing back to the girl, she replied: "Of course. It's only natural she'd want to visit her predecessor."

Callaire forced a polite smile.

Down another flight of stairs. Then another.

Grace heard the hesitation in the woman's breath. The tension in her steps. She didn't comment. Instead, she spoke lightly, gesturing at the stonework with mild amusement.

"I've never actually been this deep myself," she said. "Quite impressive, isn't it?"

"Yes, my Lady" Callaire answered softly, her eyes scanning the iron-bound doors.

They walked in silence a while longer, the flicker of torches casting long shadows along the stone corridor. The girl—Rin—hadn't spoken once.

Eventually, they reached the lower floor. Quiet. Cold. Iron doors lined both sides of the passage.

Grace came to a stop.

"So," she said, voice soft and casual, "we should be here."

She glanced back at the girl. Earlier, she had noticed it—a faint strain of mana circling her. As someone with a core, Grace could see mana clearly. Not every type as sharply as her own affinity, but this one... this was unmistakable.

Shadow mana.

It curled around the girl's heart like smoke, circling with that chaotic, hungry rhythm Grace knew well. The girl was unconsciously forming a core. A little late for her age, perhaps, but still, there it was. Wild and raw. Fierce.

Promising, Grace thought. Very promising.

She tilted her head slightly. Lady Callaire was old, an alchemist, a scholar-mage who had learned to shape magic without a core. One of the rare few who could do so. Perhaps she had found this child and planned to use her. Or mold her. Who knows.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Grace narrowed her eyes.

"Lady Callaire," she said after a brief pause, "are you aware that your apprentice has quite the talent?"

The old woman blinked, caught off guard. "She is... a good apprentice, yes."

So, she doesn't know, Grace thought, filing it away. Interesting. Or she lies well. Either way

Grace reached into her gown and produced a small iron key. She stepped forward, placed it in Callaire's hand with a warm, polished smile.

"It's your visit, after all," she said sweetly. "So do me the honor, won't you?"

The next minutes didn't really go as planned.

Then again, was there ever a plan? Something felt odd about this.

As Lady Callaire stepped into the cell, the girl rushed past her like a storm. Ah, Grace thought, so she truly does care. How sweet. And it was more than anticipated. The same was for Lady Callaire too, her expression was all clenched worry and disbelief.

Grace followed them inside, unhurried, her steps light, careful not to dirty her shoes. She stood just inside the threshold, gaze moving from Rin to Leon and back.

This is trouble.

She hadn't expected such… attachment. Emotional, loud, inconvenient attachment. Rin clutched Leon like she'd lost him once already.

Why do they care so much about him? It was genuinely perplexing. Leon was nothing now. Her dog. A broken thing. Not worth this display.

Grace looked down at him. He lay there bloodied, hollow-eyed, shoulder mangled beyond recognition.

Her head tilted slightly.

Memory loss, she noted. As Leon didn't recognize Rin or Callaire. Add that to the list. Conditioning, loyalty imprint, erasure... interesting. She made a mental note to explore the divine spark's effects more thoroughly. Leon had become far more than she intended.

But now, she had a narrative problem.

Why did I even bring them here?

The scene smelled of iron and damp straw. Rin's sobs, Callaire's outrage, the blank smile of Leon, it all pressed in on her. And something inside her twisted. Tugged.

She knew what it was. A push. A nudge. That quiet voice in the back of her skull.

A setup. This was a setting. A stage to lose control. To slip. She clenched her jaw.

It hadn't been her full intent to bring them here. Not consciously. But something had tilted her that way. Just enough to justify it.

You tried, she thought coldly to the void presence lingering behind her thoughts. But not today, I still decide.

Leon spoke, beginning his story—stilted, false, rehearsed.

Grace didn't listen.

She was too busy calculating. Damage control. Narrative preservation. This had already gone off-script.

Letting them see him was a mistake. Letting them care about him even worse.

I don't need this kind of headache. Not now.

Leon's tale ended. Rin whispered "bullshit," then rose to her feet, lifting him under the shoulders.

She turned to Grace. Eyes blazing.

"Step aside. I'm taking him home."

Grace sighed internally. Such a headache… but I can't let him go. Even if I wanted to... Not that I do.

Callaire turned around to face Rin, clearly about to stop her. Grace stepped further into the cell and let her fingers brush against the iron door.

With a heavy clang, the door slammed shut behind her.

Locked.

The knights outside are probably panicking, she mused with an inward smirk. Sorry, boys. I need the narrative.

She turned to face them all, her expression soft—too soft.

"I can't let you take him," she said quietly, as if it pained her. "He hasn't redeemed his sins. He struck me, after all."

Or at least he tried. Thank you, Elen… again.

And then—pain in her head. A flash behind her eyes. Just a second, like someone raking nails through her thoughts. Her control slipped.

Not entirely, but enough. Grace didn't flinch. She had expected this in a way. The whole setup was leading to this. And she could feel it—something slow-burning, coiled deep in her soul. Corax had sealed most of it with his essence, but still, it didn't take over Grace with words now. No, it used her emotions.

A wave of heat crashed through her. Anger. Spite.

Who do they think they are? Demanding things from me? Reasoning with me like I'm just some mere girl you can look down to?

Her posture shifted. Sadness drained from her face. Her spine straightened. Her lips curled into a cruel little smile.

"It wasn't easy making him mine, you know," she said lightly, amusement touching her voice. "Right, Leon?"

Leon didn't hesitate. His eyes glowed with devotion.

"Yes, my goddess!"

The moment snapped.

Grace blinked once, cold awareness washing back in.

Ah. Anger issues now? Lovely. I'm a perfect candidate for a therapy scroll. Whatever. It's too late now.

Rin moved.

She pulled the needle from her hair, eyes burning with fury. She lunged, not like a normal kid, but like a girl who had lived in alleys and learned to fight for her scraps. Like a street rat.

Adrenaline spiked in face of Rin's attack in Grace's veins. Never again, she thought, never on the losing end of a fight. Her mana core flared. And a shimmering barrier bloomed around her.

Rin hit it mid-air.

The force threw her back like a ragdoll. She slammed into the stone wall with a sickening crunch, bones breaking on impact. She collapsed, wheezing, unmoving.

Callaire screamed.

She rushed toward Rin, arms outstretched, horror etched into her old face. Grace felt the moment crystallize. She made her decision.

Callaire was too old. Too clever. She wouldn't play along. She needed to be removed. A flick of her wrist. A wordless invocation.

ᚹᛖᛁᛚᛋᛁᚷᚱ ᛋᚺᚨᛏᛏᛖᚱ. (Void shatter)

The air bent.

Then came the light—not dark, but pink, sickly and wrong, like a wound turned inside out. It bloomed from Grace's hand and flowed toward Callaire with impossible grace, a drifting veil of shimmering death.

It touched her midsection first. The light clung to her like silk, wrapping her waist in a flickering corona of horror. And then—it began to eat. The magic didn't cut. It devoured.

Tissue dissolved. Flesh twisted. Her torso unraveled, layer by layer, bones blackening and splitting open as if reality itself had decided to reject her.

In less than five seconds, her body caved inward. The pink void swallowed her midsection completely, until there was nothing left between shoulders and thighs.

Top and bottom hit the stone floor with wet thuds.

Her eyes still stared towards Rin. Her mouth still twitching. Forming a silent—I'm Sorry.

Then nothing.

Only blood. And silence.

Rin froze. Her breath hitched. A broken sob trembled in her throat as she stared at the mangled ruin of the only adult who had cared about her.

Leon knelt—smiling softly, as if nothing had happened.

The room stilled. As if this was exactly how things were supposed to be.

And Grace stood still.

Her heartbeat wasn't loud. It was annoyingly calm, actually. Too calm. Her fingertips tingled—not from magic. From stillness. From still being here. After what she just did.

That was it? That was the line?

She blinked. A strange taste in the back of her throat. Pity? Disgust? A whisper of something human. But it passed. Quick. Quiet. Like a thought you meant to write down and forgot the moment you blinked.

Grace closed her eyes. One breath. Then another. Her mind clicked, rearranged. The mental fog lifted.

Right. So, this is what it feels like to be sure.

Callaire was the first human she'd killed. Not an accident. Not a reaction. Not a monster. Just... a person. Gone.

Not because I had to. Because she was in the way. Because I decided she was in the way.

She almost laughed.

So, what now, Grace? Gonna cry? Pretend this was some void corruption nonsense? Blame the influence again? Boo-hoo, I'm just a little girl, possessed by ancient eldritch evil?

No.

Not this time.

She opened her eyes and the world snapped into place.

This is who I am. Not broken. Not cursed. Just honest.

She had said it once before. In a whisper. "I'll let the world burn."

And it wasn't a joke, was it?

No one burns the world with good intentions and second thoughts. You don't torch a system with a conscience tugging at your sleeve.

You erase it. And you don't get to cry about the match you struck.

Grace slapped her cheeks. Once. Twice. Color bloomed back into her skin. The tension in her shoulders melted away.

A slow, perfect smile spread across her face.

There we go. She was in the way. I removed her. No one important died today. They'll all learn, sooner or later. I'm not a heroine. I'm not the victim. I'm not the villain.

I'm the variable.

Grace turned back toward Rin, who was staring up at her now, hate and grief wrapped tight behind bloodshot eyes.

"You're free to scream," she said sweetly with an irritating smile.

But Rin didn't scream. She just breathed. Shallow. Trembling. Her hands clenched, her frame curled like she could hold herself together with will alone.

Grace tilted her head, considering. Then she exhaled slowly.

"Well… first things first. We need to loosen the ends."

She crouched slightly, voice light and casual.

"You have potential, you know. All that swirling mana around your heart? That's not nothing. A shadow core in the making—so rare." She gave an admiring nod. "Would be such a waste."

She stood again and called gently, "Leon, come here."

He obeyed instantly, crawling over on bloodied limbs like a devoted hound.

"Look," Grace said, gesturing between them, "this is your friend Rin. Rin deeply cares about you. You should care about her too."

Leon stared at Rin with that same glazed smile.

Grace clasped her hands behind her back. "Now, Rin. Here's the offer."

Her voice dropped a little—sweeter, darker.

"You want to take him home someday? You want to save what's left of him?" She leaned closer, eyes glowing faintly in the dim cell. "Then work for me. Just a few years. That's all I ask. Give me loyalty. Give me usefulness. Earn your little reunion."

Rin didn't move at first. She was still holding herself, shaking, eyes flitting from Leon to Grace and back again.

So much emotion in her eyes…

Hate. Fear. Despair. And beneath it—a spark of something fierce.

Finally, her voice broke through the silence.

"You… promise?"

Grace smiled. Bright and delicate. Like a child on her birthday.

"I promise." Then she turned, walking toward the iron door. As she opened it, she spoke one last time, without looking back: "Someone will come. They'll heal you. You'll need the strength. Forming a core takes more than pain, you know."

The heavy door groaned shut behind her.

Her knights swarmed instantly. "Your Grace—what happened? Are you injured? We heard—"

"Nothing happened," she interrupted, walking forward with calm steps, her blood-red dress swaying. "Follow me. We have something to arrange."

And she didn't look back.

Grace felt… reborn. Again.

Second rebirth in a few weeks, she mused wryly. At this rate I'll hit sainthood by seven. At least this time it was only figurative.

There was a lightness in her chest, like something had snapped loose. Not guilt or regret. Just clarity. Cold and sharp.

Really, she thought, I need to get this emotion fuckery under control. Mood swings aren't exactly ideal for long-term planning. And trapping myself in a situation like this to lose control isn't good either...

Her steps echoed through the stone corridor. Behind her, the knights scrambled to catch up, still murmuring questions she ignored.

She smiled faintly to herself. With blood on her hands and silk brushing her ankles, Grace walked forward—calm, composed, and utterly unrepentant.