This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

River opened his eyes, and the world around him had completely changed.

"Interesting," he muttered, his gaze scanning the eerie landscape.

He didn't know much about this dungeon—just the brief summary listed on the Hunter's website. That alone told him it probably didn't hold any major significance in the original timeline. Most F-Rank and E-Rank dungeons were forgettable. They appeared, they were cleared, and then they vanished from memory. Only a rare few among the lower ranks ever caused enough trouble to make history. This clearly wasn't one of them.

Still, River remained cautious.

Above, a pale moon hung unnaturally high, casting a cold, silvery light over a forest swallowed by death. The trees—twisted and leafless—stood like skeletal sentinels, their bark cracked and gray. Many bent inward, their spindly branches drooping toward the ground as if bowing to the oppressive air that lingered throughout the dungeon.

The silence was heavy, almost unnatural.

In the distance, River spotted a black swamp, its thick, bubbling waters releasing dark fumes that slithered into the air like steam. The miasma shimmered faintly, tainting the atmosphere with a corrosive haze.

River narrowed his eyes.

There's probably more than one of those swamps here.

Dead trees. Toxic mists. Chilling air. And a moon barely holding back the encroaching darkness.

Yeah… This is the perfect setup for a zombie-type dungeon, he thought, a small, intrigued smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He began walking forward, silent footsteps pressing against brittle leaves and ashen soil.

At the same time, his mind went inward, analyzing his own condition.

Having high starting stats was an immense advantage. It allowed a Hunter to face dungeons like this with a sense of control—efficiency even. The compatibility between one's stats and a dungeon's difficulty often determined life or death for rookies.

More than that, strong initial stats were a signal. A red flag for Guilds. A Hunter with promising attributes at Level 13 or above would be immediately scouted. With the support of a Guild—gear, potions, training, team hunts—their growth could skyrocket.

River, however, wasn't interested in any of that.

If those Guilds knew his real numbers and ability to fight like, they'd hound him day and night, offering contracts, sponsorships, maybe even sending recruiters to camp outside his apartment. But River had no intention of tying himself to anyone. He didn't need the clout, nor the risk of someone prying into his past.

Besides, once anyone found out about his so-called "useless" Skill, they'd lose interest immediately.

Who in their right mind would want a Hunter whose only ability was producing… bubbles?

Was that even considered magic? More like a walking bubble maker than a Mage.

River let out a small, dry laugh and shook his head.

Let them think what they want.

With a thought, the chipped dagger he used during the Final Trial of the Hunter Qualification Quest materialized in his hand. The D+ Grade Steel Dagger had seen better days. It had clashed against far tougher foes than it was meant to—those relentless constructs had pushed it to its limit. Every parry, every stab, every deflection had taken a toll on its durability.

It might hold up through a few more E-Rank dungeons… maybe. But River could feel it weakening. One or two more rough encounters, and it would likely shatter.

Still, it was better than going in unarmed.

Tightening his grip around the worn hilt, River continued moving through the bleak terrain, his sharp gaze sweeping across the forest, searching for the dungeon's signature monsters—Rotlings.

Unlike the first dungeon he'd entered—the smaller, more constricted kind—this one felt vast. Expansive enough to accommodate multiple Hunters without them running into each other constantly. Of course, whether or not that happened depended entirely on where you were dropped upon entry.

For now, he had some breathing room.

But not for long.

A sudden whistle tore through the air from his left. River's instincts kicked in. Without a second thought, he halted mid-step and pivoted backward. An arrow sliced past where his shoulder had just been, cutting through the cold mist and embedding itself deep into the blackened soil with a sharp thunk.

He narrowed his eyes.

The arrow trembled, vibrating with residual force, letting out a high-pitched hum that seemed unnaturally loud in the dead silence of the forest.

River turned his head toward the source.

Perched atop a gnarled tree branch was a Hunter, bow still drawn, another arrow already nocked and aimed directly at him. The figure didn't speak—just stood there like a silent guardian.

River's ears twitched as he picked up faint sounds behind the archer: the groans and snarls of undead monsters, followed by the unmistakable clash of weapons. Other Hunters were already fighting just past that tree line.

"A warning shot," River muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing in understanding. "They're claiming this area as their own…"

It was a silent but clear message—back off.

River slowly lowered his dagger, not out of fear, but because he didn't need unnecessary conflict with other Hunters. His goal wasn't to fight humans. It was to gain experience and level up. Efficiently. Quietly.

But just as he turned his back and began walking away, another sharp whistle cut through the air.

Not again.

River instinctively twisted his body, barely dodging the incoming projectile as it struck the ground where he had stood moments ago, sending up a puff of black dust.

This time, his patience snapped.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a scowl as he glared back at the archer perched on the tree.

"The hell is your problem?!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the dungeon, raw with irritation.

The archer remained silent.

No gesture. No explanation. No hint of emotion behind the dark hood.

Just movement—calculated, deliberate—as another set of arrows was swiftly nocked onto the bowstring. Not one. Five. Each one glowing faintly with elemental energy, mana-infused tips crackling like tiny sparks.

River's brows twitched. "Oh, so this is how we're doing it?"

The bowstring drew tight, humming with tension—and then, without hesitation, the Hunter released.

Five glowing arrows exploded forward like streaks of light, fanning out in a wide arc and converging toward River's position.

River clicked his tongue and muttered, "Tch. Seriously?"

His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He ducked low, pivoted to the side, then leapt backward, each step calculated, each dodge a blur. One arrow whizzed past his cheek, close enough to sting from the heat. Another grazed his sleeve, tearing fabric but not skin. The rest struck the ground with loud thuds, kicking up dirt and bursts of mana on impact.

River landed in a crouch, exhaling sharply. His dagger still in hand, his expression was now cold and unreadable.

This wasn't just a warning anymore.

This was a provocation.

He straightened his back and looked up, his eyes meeting the archer's for the first time with real intent. "You know," River muttered, his voice low, calm… dangerous, "I was going to let it go."

He slowly stepped forward, brushing off the dust from his sleeve.

"But now… you really pissed me off."

The glowing remnants of the arrows still sizzled around him, lighting the dark forest with brief flashes of blue and gold. They were high-quality—enchanted—and definitely not cheap. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't just some random E-Rank nobody trying his luck. He had resources. Training. Confidence.

And worst of all—no respect for boundaries.

River flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger.

Problematic Hunters. Hateful individuals that always gets on River's nerves. They are not as worst as the Sun God Mage but they are definitely *ssholes.

He exhaled again, steadied himself, and began walking toward the trees—not to attack, not yet, but to make his point clear.

If this guy wanted trouble, then he was about to find out what kind of "useless Bubble Mage" he had just provoked.