This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

"Ah, I went too far," River muttered, his voice flat, almost disappointed in himself as he gazed at the broken figure sprawled across the ground.

The archer was barely conscious. He lay on his back amidst the debris, limbs twitching, his breathing ragged and uneven. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping from the burns, lacerations, and punctures that marred his body. His clothes had been shredded in several places, revealing blistered skin and bone-deep gashes from the chain explosion of Bubble Bombs. One eye was swollen shut, and the other trembled as it stared at River with a volatile mixture of horror and disbelief.

Even with all the injuries, even while coughing up blood, the man's gaze remained locked on River. He couldn't understand it. This wasn't a monster, wasn't a boss-tier creature from the depths of an S-Rank dungeon—it was a fellow Hunter. Someone human. Yet River's calm, calculated power had left him utterly helpless.

"I didn't want to do this, actually," River said with a sigh as he knelt beside the man, eyeing his ruined form. "You brought it on yourself."

River wasn't the type who bullied those weaker than him just for fun. He knew the feeling of being powerless. But that didn't mean he would roll over and accept being bullied either. Retreating from stronger opponents wasn't cowardice—it was smart. Strategic. But if someone gave him a reason, and he could fight back?

He would. No hesitation.

If Nolan—the golden-haired Sun God Mage—had been weaker after the quest, River would have struck back. Hard. But back then, Nolan had power, and River had no choice but to retreat and lick his wounds.

And this archer? He'd made a grave mistake. River hadn't come here looking for conflict—just monsters to level up on—but instead, this arrogant punk had tried to kill him for sport.

River stared coldly into the man's barely open eye. "What Guild are you from?"

The archer's lips trembled. His voice was thin, hoarse. "Li…mo…"

"Limo Guild, huh?" River muttered. "Not a bad guild. Mid-tier. I've heard of them." His tone darkened. "So why shoot to kill? You just meant to scare me off, right? Or was this supposed to be fun for you?"

The archer coughed violently, dark blood spilling from his mouth. His throat convulsed as he fought to breathe, but he knew better than to lie now. Something about the masked man standing over him made deception feel... lethal.

"To… have fun…" he whispered. "I… wanted… excitement…"

River let out a long, low sigh. "Of course," he muttered. "That's what it always is with you people. Nothing but adrenaline junkies with inflated egos."

He stood up, dusting off his shirt as he looked toward the distant chaos of the dungeon. He could see flashes of light in the distance, hear faint booms and screeches—fighting was still going on further inside. The archer's companions were still busy. Good.

"I'm sparing you," River said calmly. "You should be grateful. But before I go…"

More bubbles shimmered into existence—three, then five, all forming around the man's legs.

The archer's remaining eye widened. "W-wait—"

"You've got the Skill for archery," River interrupted. "So use it. Don't go pulling out blades like you're some frontline warrior. That's how you die."

With a final glance, River snapped his fingers.

BOOM—!

The air cracked as the bubbles detonated in perfect sequence, precisely calibrated to avoid killing the man while ensuring his legs would never be the same again. Bone shattered. Skin and sinew tore. The archer screamed—an agonized, guttural sound that echoed across the dark forest.

River didn't flinch. He simply turned and walked away as if the sound was nothing more than background noise.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath after a few steps. "I really am getting cold after wearing this toy mask."

He reached up and tapped the cheap white toy mask covering his face. It looked silly, but after what just happened, it felt like a symbol. A new persona.

River smirked faintly beneath the mask. "But… maybe that's not such a bad thing."

The dungeon's silence returned slowly, punctuated only by the fading moans of the archer behind him. River's pace quickened, eyes narrowing as he closed the distance toward the heart of the conflict.

Somewhere ahead, enemies awaited. And maybe, just maybe, someone from the Limo Guild strong enough to make this interesting.

But even as he walked, River's mind wandered—not out of distraction, but analysis. He was always thinking now, always adapting.

His Bubble Bombs is a good ability against weak Hunters. The precision, the power, the chain reactions. The archer hadn't even seen them coming. No warning, no magical energy signature. Silent. Lethal.

And that mask... It wasn't just for hiding his identity anymore. It helped him separate. Behind the mask, he was no longer just River Faelan, an F-Rank Bubble Mage.

He was something else entirely.

"Maybe I should give this version of me a name," River murmured, eyes glinting beneath the mask. "The mask makes it easier to act. No hesitation. No fear."

A slight chuckle escaped him. "I'm starting to see why villains like wearing these."

He vanished into the shadows between the dark trees, a faint mist trailing in his wake. Behind him, the archer had passed out from the pain, unconscious but alive.

…

River didn't have to walk long before finding the Limo Group. Even without a tracker skill, the commotion ahead—the distinct sound of steel clashing, frantic shouting, and the guttural howls of beasts—was enough to guide him.

There, amid a thicket of twisted, dying trees, he found them locked in a tense battle.

In the center of a blackened clearing stood the source of their panic: a three-meter Alpha Rotling, its grotesque form towering over the lesser Rotlings swarming around it. Its body was made of slick, sinewy muscle stretched over bone, its jaw split in unnatural places, revealing rows of jagged, mismatched fangs. Sickly green fluid dripped from its claws, melting the decaying forest floor wherever it landed.

The rest of the group, now reduced to five members after the archer's encounter with River, were clearly struggling. One held up a battered shield with trembling arms, while another chanted a Skill with bloody lips. Two swordsmen circled the Alpha, trying to draw its attention, but they were slow. Tired. Panicking.

"They're lucky," River muttered, hiding himself behind the gnarled roots of a dying tree as he observed from a distance. "Finding an Alpha right at the beginning... Must've triggered a mini-boss event."

Branches creaked above him like skeletal fingers rubbing together in the windless gloom. The forest was unnaturally quiet aside from the battle—no birds, no breeze. Just shadows and death. The leafless trees leaned like hunchbacked corpses, and the ground squelched with rot underfoot.

Initially, River had no intention of dealing with anyone. He'd wanted to head in another direction, carve out a trail of weak Rotlings to rack up experience solo. But after the stunt that archer pulled, he felt compelled to see just how far the Limo Group would fall without their ranged support.

And it seems he arrived at just the right time.

A fire Skill exploded near the Alpha, but it only staggered the beast for a second before it let out an earsplitting screech and lunged forward, clawing at the caster with terrifying speed.

River's fingers twitched, itching to move. His heart, however, remained calm—too calm. He tilted his head slightly, watching with the cold disinterest of a masked judge.

Now, the question was—should he join them?

River placed a thoughtful hand under his chin, expression hidden beneath the toy-white mask. "If I go the other way, I'll probably just find more basic Rotlings," he muttered. "No challenge. No decent EXP."

But here? There was an Alpha right in front of him. And a tired, distracted party to do most of the work.

He didn't need to think much longer. A few quick steps brought him closer to the battlefield, his presence still unnoticed.

The weight of the mask on his face felt oddly comforting. It wasn't magical, but it had a strange effect—like slipping into a role that didn't care about the consequences.

"What's there to worry about," he whispered to himself as he stepped out of the shadows and into the fray.

As River walked closer to the group, his eyes locked onto a figure who stood apart from the rest—not engaged in the frantic battle, but still vital.

The man had the build of a heavyweight brawler, broad and towering, his black battlesuit stretched taut over thick cords of muscle. Twin mechanical gatling guns were holstered at his sides like coiled serpents waiting to strike. Right now, he was crouched low, hands moving with trained precision as he reloaded the weapons, one bullet belt at a time. Despite his dexterity, he looked agitated—sweat pouring down his temples, voice cracking with frustration as he barked into his battlecom.

"Hey! Where the fck are you?! Didn't I tell you to get your ass back here?!" he snarled. "Are you still dealing with that motherfcker? Didn't you kill him already?! Huh?! Answer me! Stop with the damn scouting and help us!"

River tilted his head, mildly amused.

Ah. That motherf*cker must be me.

He smirked, but the expression didn't reach his eyes.

The battlefield crackled with tension. Screams of pain, the screeching of Rotlings, and the hum of unstable mana filled the decaying forest. A Skill exploded nearby, causing flickers of blue flame to dance on a blackened branch beside River.

Then, the gunner froze mid-conversation. Like an instinctual predator sensing another, his head turned—and his eyes met River's.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

River stood motionless, face concealed behind his strange toy white mask. But even without seeing the eyes behind it, the pressure was palpable.

The leader's expression darkened, fury flashing across his face. A silent snarl twisted his lips into a sneer that practically screamed:

'Don't f*ck with me, or I'll kill you.'

Then, aloud, he spat, "Who the f*ck are you?!"

River didn't answer right away. He simply took a slow step forward, tilting his head slightly, the dim forest light reflecting off the surface of his mask.

And then, almost mockingly, he said, "Just a motherf*cker, apparently."