Lindar Psychios Mycetum sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the dim glow of a soul mp flickering in the corner of her room. The faint golden light reflected off the polished wooden walls, casting long shadows that danced like wraiths. The air smelled of old parchment, herbal incense, and the lingering scent of her mother’s medicinal tonics.

  Now she was no longer just Lindar Mycetum—she had a title. Psychios. Her father had chosen it, just like every noble family did when their heir awakened.

  She traced a finger over the embroidered crest on her pillow—the sigil of the Mycetum family. A mushroom crowned with delicate glowing spores, a representation of their legacy. The aristocracy was not just about wealth and privilege. It was duty. From the moment she could understand words, she had heard tales of lords and knights who fought to protect human territories from the endless waves of fierce beasts.

  “Without the aristocracy, humanity would have long been devoured.”

  Those were the words written in one of the history books she had read. Every noble family had sacrificed generations to secure what little nd humanity held. The world beyond the bases was a wastend of horrors, a battlefield where men and women fought and bled to carve out safe havens.

  And she was born into that duty.

  Lindar clenched her tiny fists. She would not be weak.

  _____

  As dawn broke, the base slowly stirred to life. Soldiers patrolled the walls, bcksmiths ignited their forges, and traders prepared their goods for the market. But in a quiet clearing behind the Mycetum estate, Lindar was already training.

  She stood alone, her bare feet pressing into the dewy grass. A faint mist clung to the ground, swirling around her ankles.

  With a deep breath, she extended her hands.

  A soft glow flickered to life in front of her—a blueish-pink radiance, pulsing like a heartbeat. The light twisted and solidified into a floating psychedelic mushroom, its delicate cap shimmering with hypnotic hues.

  Her Martial Spirit.

  Despite its mesmerizing beauty, it held no power yet. Without a soul ring, she could not use its true abilities. But that did not mean she was powerless.

  Lindar inhaled, pulling the raw soul energy within her body and channeling it into her fists. A faint aura shimmered around her small hands, an imperfect coating of spiritual energy.

  Then, she began her routine.

  Her right fist shot forward—a punch.

  Her left followed—a quick jab.

  A step back, a pivot, then a sweeping strike—a counter.

  Every movement was sharp, precise, and controlled. She was too young to practice true combat, but her father had taught her that even without a soul ring, she could hone her body.

  “A warrior without technique is nothing but a fool waiting to die.”

  She imagined an enemy before her—a fierce beast, cws extended, fangs bared. She ducked under its imaginary swipe, twisted, and struck at its exposed side.

  To an observer, she might have looked like a child pying pretend. But to her, this was life and death.

  She did not notice the two figures watching her from the shadows of the veranda.

  Bradon Veneficus Mycetum stood with his arms crossed, his eyes dark and thoughtful. The morning breeze rustled his deep green noble robes, embroidered with golden threads that marked his status as Lord of Mycetum Base.

  At his side, his wife Banitar Nitiditas Mycetum leaned against the wooden railing, watching their daughter with a knowing smile.

  Bradon exhaled deeply. “She’s growing up too fast.”

  Banitar arched an elegant brow, her silver-white hair cascading over her shoulder as she turned to him. “And why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

  Bradon rubbed his temple. “She’s only six, but look at her. She already pushes herself like a warrior preparing for war.” His voice held a mix of pride and concern.

  Banitar chuckled, a soft, musical sound. “That is a good thing. Our little girl inherited your spirit, and it will be a great help to this territory.” She gnced at him teasingly. “Or would you rather she had my support-type spirit and stayed away from battle?”

  Bradon sighed, shaking his head. He was not a sentimental man, but he knew his wife was right. Lindar’s psychedelic mushroom was a mutation—a variant of his own poisonous mushroom martial spirit. A rare and unpredictable phenomenon.

  And it meant she had potential.

  Banitar pced a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry too much. The upcoming Beast Tide will be her first true test. She will be fine.”

  Bradon did not answer immediately. He looked back at Lindar, watching as she struck at empty air with determination.

  “I hope you’re right,” he thought.

  Lindar did not hear her parents' quiet conversation. She was too focused on her training.

  The fierce beast in her mind lunged again. She ducked low, rolled to the side, and delivered a decisive punch to its skull.

  In her imagination, the beast howled and colpsed, its body dissolving into raw soul energy.

  Her little chest heaved, sweat trickling down her forehead. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, smiling to herself.

  One day, I’ll fight real fierce beasts.

  She had read the records. Every week, a small Beast Tide assaulted their borders. Every month, rger waves came. And once a year, the great Yearly Beast Tide would arrive, led by a Leader Beast.

  Only Leader Beasts drop soul rings.

  That meant to obtain her first soul ring, she needed to wait for a leader.

  Or…

  She could hunt one herself.

  Her little hands clenched at the thought. Many noble children waited for their families to secure them a safe first soul ring.

  But she did not want to wait.

  She wanted to earn it.

  The mere thought sent excitement thrumming through her veins.

  She turned back toward the house, ready to continue training, only to see her parents watching her from the veranda.

  Lindar’s cheeks flushed slightly, realizing they had probably been standing there for a while.

  Banitar smiled at her. “Enjoying yourself?”

  Lindar hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”

  Bradon stepped forward, his gaze firm but not unkind. “That’s good.” He paused, then added, “We’ve decided. In the next weekly Beast Tide, you will accompany us.”

  Lindar’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Banitar chuckled. “Yes, but don’t get too excited. You will only observe. You are still too young to fight.”

  Lindar bit her lip, fighting the urge to protest. She knew better than to argue. Observation was still better than staying home.

  She lowered her head and bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother.”

  Bradon nodded. “Go wash up. We will talk more about it ter.”

  Lindar turned and ran inside, her heart pounding with excitement.

  The Beast Tide…

  It would be her first step into the world of warriors.