This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

"I see someone in the distance."

Perched atop the brittle branches of a dead tree, the archer narrowed his eyes and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He aimed down at a man walking leisurely through the dungeon, clad in casual clothes and a strange, smiling white mask.

The man wore a dark grey hooded robe over a fitted black battlesuit that pulsed faintly with traces of Mana. It wasn't high-grade armor, but there was something unnerving about the way he moved—too relaxed for someone alone in an E-Rank dungeon.

A low voice crackled through the archer's battlecom.

"Do what you have to do. Scare him off."

"Aye aye, boss," the archer replied with a smirk.

He nocked the arrow, infused it with a trace of Mana, and released. The projectile became a streak of light, slicing through the air toward the masked figure's back.

But just as it was about to hit, the man sidestepped—effortlessly, like he had eyes on the back of his head.

The archer's brow furrowed.

Did he just dodge that? Without looking?

Not wanting to let the man get away, he quickly nocked another arrow. This time, he poured in more Mana and pulled the bowstring taut until the tension hummed. With a sharp whistle, the arrow shot forward, tearing the wind apart like a spear of sound.

Yet again, the masked man dodged.

No effort. No wasted motion. He moved like he'd known the arrow was coming before it was ever fired.

"What the hell is your problem?!" the masked man shouted from below, his voice carrying across the windless dungeon like a challenge.

The archer scowled.

"Boss," he muttered, tapping the communicator embedded in his ear. "We've got a situation. He dodged my arrows."

There was a pause, followed by the faint rumble of explosions and distant battle cries on the other end.

"Dodged them?" the Boss repeated, almost amused.

"Yes."

A cold edge entered the Boss's tone.

"Then kill him. This is a dungeon—we make the law here. If he won't yield, then he dies. No exceptions."

"Understood." The archer grinned, eyes flashing with renewed bloodlust.

In their group's rules, dodging a warning shot meant defiance. If the man had simply taken the hit or fled, they would've let him go. But resisting? That made him fair game. Even so, part of the archer knew it was just a weak excuse. He simply didn't like missing.

Growling low, he reached into his inventory and retrieved five arrows—thicker, heavier, and marked with silver-blue runes.

With a flick of his hand and the activation of his Skill, the arrows crackled with lightning, the air trembling around them.

He nocked all five on a wide bow and drew back.

"Let's see you dodge this," he muttered.

He released.

The air howled. A sharp snap echoed as the five arrows shot forth like divine punishment, leaving behind trails of lightning.

But before the bolts could reach their target, the masked figure did something that shocked the Archer.

The strange masked man moved his body in a way that didn't seem natural—almost mechanical in precision, yet smooth and fluid like water. He twisted, ducked, and sidestepped with such accuracy that each of the five arrows missed by mere inches, as if he'd known exactly where they would land even before they were released.

The archer's jaw tightened.

This can't be happening.

Each of those arrows had been charged with Mana and guided by his Skill, meant to shift slightly midair to ensure a hit. They should've curved, corrected themselves, pierced armor, and nailed the target clean—but not this time. Not with this guy.

A knot of disbelief formed in his stomach.

"No way…" he muttered, eyes wide. "He dodged them all?"

The sound of the wind brushing through the dead forest was drowned out by the rising tension in his chest. His eyes narrowed beneath his hood, watching as the masked man came to a calm stop, as if nothing had just happened. As if dodging arrows infused with a Skill was an everyday thing.

The archer's hands trembled slightly.

Not from fear, but from rage and disbelief.

He prided himself on his precision. He was an archer who could hit a rat between the eyes from two hundred meters. He was feared in the lower-tier dungeons. Even among his party, his aim was what kept them alive. And now… this?

"This can't be. This can't be happening!" he growled, more to himself than anyone else. "How can this guy dodge all my arrows?!"

The voice of his squad leader crackled through the battlecom in his ear, interrupting his growing panic.

"What's happening there? Did you kill him yet?"

"No, boss!" he spat. "This guy's weird—his movements don't make sense. It's like he's predicting where the arrows will land before I even shoot!"

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the muffled background of clashing weapons and distant explosions. "Then stop wasting time and fight him head-on."

"Tch. Got it, boss."

The line went silent again.

The archer's lips curled into a grin, his earlier irritation melting into something more primal—excitement. The boredom of standing watch, of babysitting an empty patch of trees, had finally paid off.

He strapped his bow to his back and hopped down from the gnarled tree with feline grace. His boots landed silently on the blackened ground, dead leaves crackling beneath his step.

His eyes never left the masked man, who now stood still, unmoving, waiting.

So you're not going to run?

"Good," the archer whispered to himself.

"Makes this more fun."

His fingers tapped the dagger strapped to his thigh, but instead of drawing it, he reached into his inventory and pulled out a short, curved blade radiating a faint green glow. A Poison Fang—a B-grade weapon handed down to him by the boss after their last raid.

"This might sting," he muttered with a grin, licking his lips.

But the moment he took a step forward, the masked man tilted his head, and for a brief second, the temperature in the air seemed to drop.

A breeze rolled in. Cold. Sharp. Heavy.

The hooded man squinted, glancing to his left and right. The air had shifted, but nothing seemed out of place. No backup. No sudden threat. Just the masked freak standing before him.

He scowled. "What the hell was that chill just now...?"

Shaking it off, he rolled his shoulders and leveled his gaze at River.

"Hey, wrong way, pal," the hooded man called out with a cocky smirk. He twirled the curved blade in his hand with practiced ease. "You're not supposed to be here."

River didn't move. His masked face remained unreadable, but his voice—cold, even, and piercing—cut through the quiet like a blade.

"No. I'm exactly where I need to be."

His glowing eyes peered from behind the mask. "You tried to kill me."

There was no emotion behind the words. Just a statement of fact. Icy. Certain.

The archer gave a low chuckle and pointed his blade at him with mock swagger. "Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, huh?"

River tilted his head, pretending to consider.

"Hm. What can I do?" His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Ah. Right. I've got it."

He raised a hand.

"Wait, what—"

Snap.

The soft sound echoed louder than it should have, like the crack of a whip. Instantly, half a dozen translucent bubbles blinked into existence, floating gently around the hooded man. They shimmered in soft colors, harmless at a glance—almost beautiful.

The archer took a step back. "W-What is this?"

River smiled beneath his mask.

"Fireworks."

Snap.

A single bubble popped—and with it came a shockwave of compressed air that detonated in an instant.

BOOM!

Dust and shattered debris exploded outward like a grenade blast, followed by a chain of rapid bubble bursts. One after another, the seemingly delicate orbs erupted with violent force, their delayed detonation surrounding the archer in a mini storm of pressure, heat, and crackling noise.

"Argh!!" he screamed, flung backward as two bubbles burst against his chest and side, the force knocking him off his feet. He crashed into a tree trunk with a loud crack, his blade slipping from his grip.

The last two bubbles detonated beside him as he hit the ground, adding insult to injury by kicking up another wave of dirt and smoke.

Groaning, the archer rolled onto his side, coughing. His ears rang. His body ached. His pride—shattered.

What the hell were those things?!

He tried to focus, but through the thinning smoke, River calmly walked forward, unaffected. The faint shimmer of a mana shield glowed briefly around his form before fading again. He raised his hand slowly, as if offering a second round of pain.

The hooded man's eyes widened. "W-Wait! Hold on—!"

Snap.

Another set of bubbles flickered into existence around him.

"No! Please, wait—!!"

River's tone didn't change. "You tried to kill me."

There was no anger. No malice. Just finality.

"And now… you face the cost."

Snap.