This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

River hurriedly parked his bicycle in the metal rack outside the hotel where he had been staying for the past week. His mask was gone, leaving his pale face bare under the faint glow of the street lamps. Though his features were as expressionless as ever, inside he was screaming in pain.

The poison was spreading fast.

The Twelve-Legged Spider Face's venom was notorious among Hunters. River had read about it in dungeon records: a toxin capable of killing even experienced C-Rank Hunters if left untreated. His body burned as though fire had been poured into his veins, a sharp agony twisting through his stomach where the monster's fangs had pierced him. He didn't have a potion for this—not anymore. Every vial he carried had already been spent in the brutal fight against the Dungeon Boss.

The spider's final attack hadn't been calculated—it was just a last desperate strike. Still, it was enough. River could have dodged it if his body had been faster, if his stats had matched the precision of his mind. But they didn't. His brain had seen the attack, understood it, yet his muscles refused to obey in time. And now the venom pulsed inside him, thick and black, threatening to end him before dawn.

River took a deep breath and forced himself to remain steady. The world swayed faintly around him, but he moved with cold determination. After securing his bike, he summoned a bubble beneath his feet. It swelled and hardened just enough to hold his weight. With a single leap, he landed atop it, the bubble compressing then bursting outward with a soundless ripple. The force launched him upward, carrying him several meters through the cool night air.

The balcony of his hotel room came into reach. River angled his body midair and landed lightly, the last of the bubble's fragments popping into tiny glimmers around him like scattered stars. He didn't bother unlocking the window or even stepping inside. His time was too short. Instead, he lowered himself to the balcony floor, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees.

Mana Gathering—it was his only chance.

River closed his eyes. The world fell away. His consciousness spread outward like a vast, invisible wave. In his mind, it was as if he were casting out threads, hundreds of them, delicate yet unyielding. They reached beyond the balcony, beyond the hotel, and into the streets of Voulton City. Lanterns glowed faintly below, the noise of late-night vehicles and distant hunters still moving through the streets echoing faintly. River ignored it all. His senses pressed further, deeper, stretching until he could feel the streams of mana that laced through the night sky itself.

Normally, he kept this ability restrained. Using it so broadly would be considered reckless, wasteful, even dangerous. But tonight, he had no such luxury. If he truly wanted, he knew he could spread his perception over the entirety of Voulton City itself, mapping every mana signature, tracing every flicker of life. But such precision wasn't his goal.

The mana gathered around him, drawn into his body like rivers flowing into the sea. It surged through him, bright and pure, swirling with a clarity that contrasted sharply against the heavy, writhing darkness of the poison. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat steadied. He shifted the flow.

This wasn't the normal pattern of Mana Gathering. Normally, the technique would replenish his MP reserves, patching the wounds of exhaustion that battles carved into a Hunter's body. But River needed more than simple recovery. He bent the streams into a new rhythm, forcing the mana into his bloodstream.

There.

He felt it immediately: the poison.

The venom clung like tar, crawling sluggishly through his veins. Every time it pulsed, it sent daggers of pain into his organs, as though they were rotting from the inside out. River's teeth clenched, his jaw tightening, but his face betrayed nothing.

The gathered mana shifted again, responding to his will. It became sharp, focused, almost alive. Like tiny blades of light, they hunted the black poison, surrounding it, pressing against it. Then, with a silent command, River ordered them to attack.

The clash was invisible, but inside his body it felt like war.

The venom writhed, resisting, burning hotter in defiance. River's chest heaved once, sweat breaking out across his brow as if he were standing inside a furnace. But the mana did not falter. He pushed it harder, directing it like soldiers cutting through enemy lines. Each poisonous strand was slashed apart, dissolved into nothing, purified by the relentless current of mana.

It was working. Slowly. Painfully. But it was working.

River exhaled, a faint mist leaving his lips as though the night itself had turned icy around him. He could feel the venom retreating, cornered, stripped away piece by piece.

It lasted only a few minutes, and when River finally opened his eyes, the familiar burning ache in his veins was gone. The poison had vanished without a trace.

"I really hate poison-based monsters," River muttered, his tone caught somewhere between annoyance and fatigue. He shook his head slowly, as though trying to fling away the memory of the ordeal, then pushed himself to his feet and trudged into his room.

The sight of the bed was almost divine. Without hesitation, he collapsed onto it, bouncing once before the mattress swallowed him in its soft embrace. His tense body melted into the sheets, and for the first time that day, he felt the weight pressing on his shoulders ease, if only a little.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he exhaled heavily.

Dealing with the poison had been troublesome, but compared to what he had endured the past week, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

He had been grinding non-stop—diving into dungeon after dungeon scattered across Voulton City. F-Rank, E-Rank, even D-Rank… every gate he could legally enter, he cleared. Dungeon bosses fell before him one after another, their monstrous roars silenced by his relentless pursuit of strength. It was as though he was trying to wring every drop of experience the city could offer.

If Voulton had stronger dungeons available, he might have pressed on into C-Rank or even risked B-Rank, though he knew that would border on reckless at his current level. Yet the hunger inside him whispered that danger was the fastest path forward.

He pushed the thought aside and willed his Status Screen to appear. A faint blue glow shimmered before his eyes, lines of data unfolding in neat rows.

Name: River Faelan

Skill: Bubblecrafter [Tap to see details]

Class: Mage

Level: 28

Experience Points: 5612 / 35876

Status Points: 1

Title(s): Undying Soul [Tap to see details]

BASE STATS

HP: 100

MP: 170 / 170

STR: 20

AGI: 15

INT: 15

WIS: 14

VIT: 13

DEX: 12

River stared at the screen in silence. His bitter smile deepened.

From Level 23 to Level 28—five levels in seven days of grinding. For ordinary Hunters, such progress would be unimaginable, but for him, it felt… lacking. Too slow.

Still, it was understandable.

Life wasn't a neatly designed game where enemies dropped mountains of EXP with every kill. Reality demanded blood, sweat, and caution. Monsters didn't simply line up to be slaughtered, and their deaths rarely provided as much experience as one would hope. Even the three D-Rank dungeon bosses he had managed to hunt down hadn't given enough to satisfy his ambitions.

He let the numbers sink in before muttering, "But compared to my first life… I'm raising my levels faster than anyone else."

The corner of his lips curved upward.

If other Hunters knew about this—if they discovered that in just two weeks since Awakening he had already clawed his way to Level 28—there would be outrage. Jealousy would spill like blood. Even the Government or the Hunter Association, with all their carefully cultivated elites, would gnash their teeth at such monstrous growth.

River exhaled and forced himself to let go of the gnawing dissatisfaction. "I should be grateful…"

Sitting up, he tapped his Status Point into STR. His muscles tingled faintly as though acknowledging the reinforcement, and he clenched his fist experimentally. Stronger—if only by a little. Every increment counted.

Rising from the bed, he stripped off his clothes and stretched. His body was lean and honed, six-pack abs visible beneath the soft light of the room. The mirror across from him reflected someone who looked less like a novice mage and more like a seasoned fighter, though he knew appearances meant little.

He moved toward the shower, craving the sting of hot water to wash away sweat and fatigue. But before his hand could reach the bathroom door, a sharp buzz echoed from the nightstand.

River froze, eyes narrowing. His phone.

He padded over and picked it up, frowning at the glowing screen. An unknown number.

His thumb hovered for a moment before he swiped. "Hello? Who is this?"

A soft, almost teasing voice spilled through the speaker.

"River Faelan, I miss your voice."

River's eyes widened briefly, his calm eyes cracking for only an instant. He recovered quickly, but his grip on the phone tightened.

"…Freya," he said evenly. "Why are you calling?"