This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!-Chapter 41: The Last Trial (Part-3)

River had lost all sense of time.

He no longer remembered how many minutes, hours—or lifetimes—had passed since this hellish trial began. The only thing that remained constant was the agony.

He couldn’t count how many times his body had been flung through the air like a broken doll, slamming into jagged obsidian pillars only for them to crumble beneath his weight. Nor could he tell how many Constructs still stalked him, circling like vultures, waiting for his final breath.

The numbers had stopped mattering a long time ago.

His ability to fight had already withered. The dagger, once firm in his grip, had long since flown from his hand. His Bubble Bombs were gone—his creativity reduced to survival instinct.

All he could do now was summon [Bubble Barriers]—thin, translucent layers of mana that cracked and shattered the instant they were struck. Each time the enemy descended upon him, he would instinctively conjure another, and another, and another.

Explosions shook the air. Searing impacts followed. Bubbles popped in violent succession, and in those fleeting seconds of defense, River desperately reached out to the surrounding Mana, attempting to gather just enough to cast again.

But his MP never recovered past twenty.

Mana Deprivation was now a constant companion.

He’d stopped keeping track of how many times it had hit him. Once? Twice? Ten? A hundred?

The symptoms never changed: the searing pain in his skull, the pressure like nails being driven into his soul. Every cell in his body screamed. His limbs trembled uncontrollably. His lungs felt like they were gasping for mana instead of air.

And worst of all, he felt rejected by the world itself—like the dimension was actively trying to erase him.

Mana Deprivation wasn’t just pain. It was annihilation. Every time he dipped below the limit, it felt as though his very existence unraveled at the seams.

No amount of experience could dull that sensation.

It was hell.

River gritted his teeth as another construct slammed into him, sending him crashing across the battlefield. A haze of crimson fog filled his vision. His ears rang. His thoughts barely held together.

Yet even now, even here...

He didn’t give up.

He forced himself up from the waterlogged obsidian floor, fingers trembling, blood dripping down his chin. His vision swam, but his heart kept beating.

Around him, the battlefield looked like the memory of a forgotten apocalypse. frёewebnoѵēl.com

The black, cracked obsidian floor was half-submerged in shallow water dyed pink from blood and steam. Gigantic spikes of stone jutted from the earth like shattered teeth. Thunderous explosions echoed in the distance as other constructs clashed into each other—some reacting to stray bubbles, others merely caught in the chaos of destruction River had left behind.

Above him, the sky was no longer gray.

It was red. A deep, broken crimson swirling with unnatural lightning that blinked in and out of existence. Cracks spread across the clouds like broken glass, glowing faintly, as if reality itself was fracturing above this cursed arena.

Dozens—maybe hundreds—of Constructs roamed the space. Their forms flickered with condensed mana and eerie silence. They moved like predators, calculated and cold.

River stood in the center of it all. A broken figure surrounded by monsters and madness.

"When is this going to end?!" River roared, his voice raw and ragged.

The constructs charging toward him faltered for the briefest of moments, their heads tilting unnaturally in his direction as if processing his sudden outburst. But just as quickly, they resumed their relentless charge—unyielding, inhuman, unstoppable.

"Sh*t. These guys are relentless!" River spat, his legs trembling beneath him.

He flicked his gaze toward his interface. HP: 13.

His lips thinned into a line. There was no room left for mistakes. This trial wasn’t like the first—no illusion, no do-overs. If his health dropped to zero, that was it. Permanent death. Not even bones would remain.

But River didn’t care.

He’d made peace with death once before.

If he was going down—he would go down exploding.

"Then come!" he bellowed, throwing his arms wide as his legs braced against the slick, cracking obsidian floor.

His eyes burned with defiance. Mana whipped around him in a frenzy as he inhaled sharply, forcibly activating Mana Gathering. His core screamed in pain, his body shaking violently from repeated deprivation. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

With every gasp of breath, every flicker of will, he wrestled stray mana into himself—just enough to give him fuel.

Then he did what no sane Hunter would ever do in this state.

He created Bubble Bombs.

And more.

And more.

The mana drained as quickly as he gathered it, an impossible cycle of consumption and absorption. His fingers blurred, weaving mana into bubbles and detonators at breakneck speed. Each time he dipped near empty, he clenched his jaw and pulled more from the air. His bones ached, his vision pulsed in and out of clarity—but still, he kept going.

Within seconds, dozens became hundreds.

The constructs slowed, confused by the chaotic whirl of translucent spheres forming a minefield around the bloodied human in their midst.

And River? He stood at the eye of the storm—swaying, panting, hands outstretched, eyes glowing with desperation and fury.

"F*ck you all!" he roared, slamming his palms together.

BOOM!

The world ruptured.

A deafening symphony of explosions swallowed the battlefield. The bubbles didn’t pop—they detonated. The force was cataclysmic. Waves of energy tore through the shallow water, vaporizing it on contact. Obsidian pillars shattered into dust, their debris flung into the crimson sky like burning feathers.

The constructs were flung in every direction—limbs torn, masks cracked, mana cores destabilized. Some disintegrated mid-air, their structures unable to withstand the cascading shockwaves. Even the toughest among them were pushed back, their frames buckling under the barrage.

Lightning crackled above.

The dark red sky responded to the devastation below, bolts of energy arcing and dancing like the heavens themselves were enraged.

River’s body was lifted off the ground by the backdraft, spun midair, and hurled into a collapsing obsidian wall. He hit it hard—bones cracking, blood flying—but even as he crumpled to the ground, even as his HP dropped to 5, his lips curled into a smirk.

He didn’t even know if the constructs were all dead.

He didn’t care.

He had burned everything to show he wouldn’t kneel.

However, despite the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, River knew.

He had failed.

The explosion might’ve been grand, deafening, apocalyptic—but it wasn’t enough.

The constructs weren’t all destroyed. Some were still standing. Some would always be standing. His strength simply couldn’t match the sheer scale of this trial.

But... does it even matter?

River had thrown everything—his mind, his body, his will—into the fire. He hadn’t held back. He hadn’t cowered. He hadn’t run.

He had fought.

And that... was enough.

"If this is the end..." he whispered hoarsely, "...then so be it."

There was no fear in his voice, only exhaustion and peace.

The sky above him twisted with red lightning, the air quaking with lingering mana. The explosion had scorched the battlefield, painting it with steam, broken stone, and ash. Even the towering obsidian spires had crumbled like old monuments under the weight of time.

River’s vision began to blur.

His body trembled.

He couldn’t move anymore.

His body felt like it didn’t belong to him—shattered, numb, slowly fading.

A sharp pain tugged at his chest.

He glanced at his interface through hazy eyes.

HP: 1

Just one. A breath away from oblivion.

His lungs rattled as he inhaled. The air tasted like smoke and iron.

The edges of his vision turned black.

And yet... he smiled again. A small, weary, lopsided smile.

"I didn’t quit..."

Those were the last words in his mind.

Then his body slumped, motionless, as the world flickered around him.

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