This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

Ripples spread with each step River took.

He had just come out of the Second Trial—dragged by an unseen force and dropped back into this strange dimension of black stone and silent air. He hadn't even had the chance to catch his breath before the final monument revealed itself.

No voice had spoken this time. No congratulatory interface, no instructions. Just the soft sound of the water sloshing underfoot and the weight of expectation hanging in the air.

River had stepped forward anyway, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch the eye etched into the monument.

And then—

War.

He'd been thrust into a battlefield.

And now, halfway through it, River ducked behind a crooked shard of black stone jutting from the floor. The third trial had no illusions, no cryptic riddles. It was a gauntlet—raw and brutal. Strange creatures roamed the ruined landscape, their bodies flickering with mana. Some glowed red with fire, others crept low like shadows, silent and precise.

River panted, clutching the D+ Grade Steel Dagger in his hand. The weapon felt light but solid—balanced, reliable. It wasn't enchanted, but in the hands of someone who had fought in real war, it didn't need to be.

He peered through the rising steam and water mist, watching as another construct passed by. It didn't spot him. Not yet.

His MP was dangerously low again.

He hadn't used the Heart of Mira yet—it was still sitting safely inside his Inventory. He could feel its presence like a slumbering ember, waiting to be crafted into something greater. But not now. Not here.

Still, the fact he had it gave him reassurance.

"Third trial doesn't hold back," he muttered under his breath, wiping blood from his cheek. "But at least this one's honest. Survive… or die."

He didn't know what this trial would grant him in the end. Power? Insight? A curse in disguise? But whatever it was, River intended to reach the end alive.

He gripped the dagger tighter. No turning back now.

The landscape stretched out like the shattered memory of a forgotten war.

Jagged obsidian spires jutted from the blackened ground at sharp angles, some cracked in half, others skewered through the corpses of fallen beasts. Pools of murky water lay scattered across the terrain, steam rising in tendrils from unseen heat beneath the surface. The shallow water reflected the chaos above—a broken sky swirling with clouds that flickered between gray and crimson, like a storm barely held back by the laws of reality.

The air was thick with tension, as if the battlefield itself remembered every scream, every death, every drop of blood spilled upon its surface.

This place wasn't just built to test a Hunter's body. It was a memory of suffering, carved into space itself.

River tightened his grip on the Steel Dagger, crouched low behind the crooked half-shattered obsidian spike. Across the open space, no more than twenty meters away, stood one of the constructs—an enemy that had been hunting him since the start of the third trial.

It was humanoid in shape, but only barely.

Its body was forged from dull, gunmetal-like plates fused with muscle-like strands of red mana. Its limbs moved with unnerving smoothness, no gears, no sound—just motion. Its head was a featureless mask, shaped like a blunt wedge with no eyes, mouth, or nose. Instead, a single glowing circle hovered above where a face should be, spinning like a compass needle made of condensed light.

Around its arms, mana rippled violently—pure energy molded into jagged blade-like projections that extended with every movement, reacting to its will. Despite its heavy frame, it was fast—faster than River expected for something so armored. He had seen it dodge a Bubble Bomb with barely a flicker of movement.

And now, it stood still, its head slowly turning. Scanning.

Searching.

Waiting.

River didn't know if it was intelligent or simply reacting to threats—but either way, it was deadly.

"They called this a Trial?" he muttered under his breath. "This feels more like a war zone from the end times…"

The construct's head snapped slightly to the left, the glowing circle pulsing once with bright light.

River froze.

Even breathing too loudly might be a mistake now.

He narrowed his eyes, reading the flow of mana around the construct, watching how it shifted its stance, how it moved its weight. Every inch of information could mean the difference between dodging death—or welcoming it.

River doesn't know his objective, so besides hiding and running from these monsters, his only option was to observe, survive—and figure out what he needed to do to pass the Third Trial.

He gritted his teeth as he ducked behind the shattered spike, the shadow of a passing construct sweeping over him like a storm cloud. Their footsteps echoed across the obsidian floor, each one heavier than the last, splashing into the shallow water like drums of death.

River's mind retraced the steps that brought him here. The First Trial was about reflection, self-awareness. He had passed it not by overpowering his clone, but by understanding that victory only came through sacrifice—by letting go of the fear of death.

The Second Trial tested his control and decision-making. Maneuvering through collapsing space, threading the needle between giant rocks, pushing his mana to the very edge. It was survival through precision.

But what was this?

He glanced again at the monstrous constructs roaming the fog-wreathed ruins. They were different from the clone or the rocks. Not just obstacles—they were hunters. And River was their prey.

It felt… unfair. These enemies were too powerful, too coordinated. Worse, they were growing faster, stronger, smarter the longer he lingered.

This can't be made for F-Rank Hunters… no way.

That thought clawed at the edge of his mind. No low-tier Hunter would survive ten minutes in here. Even River—with all his experience and talent—was being pushed to the edge.

So what does this trial want from me?

Then it hit him. Not like a revelation, but like a quiet whisper.

The Trial isn't about winning.

It's about not giving up.

It's about endurance.

The enemies were designed to be overwhelming. Their strength wasn't the point—the test was. How long could he last? Would he keep running, keep resisting, even when his chances dropped to zero?

River let out a slow breath, realization hardening into resolve. This trial is about conviction. About the will to fight even when you're cornered. Maybe it wasn't about slaying the monsters at all—but about standing tall while they surrounded him.

"There's no turning back now," he muttered, the edge of his dagger catching the dim light. Blood trickled down his arm from a previous skirmish, but his grip didn't waver.

"Self-reflection. Control… and now, willpower." His gaze swept across the shadowy arena, locking onto the construct that had been tracking him for minutes now. "You want to see how far I'll go?"

Mana gathered at his fingertips.

"I'll show you. If I'm wrong, then I will accept my death."