Loop>Live: Death Loop System In Another World

"ARGHHH!"

Lucian kept his eyes shut as the pain surged through his throat, pressing in from all sides like a vice. There was pressure around his neck, and he realized something was strangling him.

He tried to open his eyes, but something the Death Loop System had done still kept him paralyzed, as if the transfer wasn't finished yet. Even though his body resisted, the pain told him the truth—he was already inside his next life.

Without warning, his eyes snapped open.

The moment he saw his surroundings, terror struck him like a blade.

He was hanging from a rope, his body suspended in the narrow space of a closet, the cord tightening around his neck with every second. The walls were close, suffocating, and the air was heavy with silence. His feet flailed, searching for a floor that didn't exist, and every second drained his strength faster.

He didn't understand why this body had been trying to die, but he knew with perfect clarity that it had.

With frantic hands, he grabbed at the rope, struggling to loosen the knot, but the position was wrong and there was nothing to push off from. He was choking, weakening, and the world was starting to tilt.

As his vision blurred, he noticed the clothes hanging beside him, arranged with an almost obsessive neatness. Each garment was luxurious, embroidered, and unmistakably noble.

These weren't the clothes of a servant or commoner. They were the wardrobe of someone born into power.

The body he had entered belonged to the son of a noble.

Then, he noticed something—on one of the hanging garments, just above his shoulder, were fragments of something metallic glinting faintly under the dim light.

Metal?

He wasn't sure, but it was the only thing that looked solid enough to help.

With what little strength he had left, he reached for the cloth. His muscles trembled, and his chest burned, and it felt like his body was about to give out. But he forced himself forward anyway.

His fingers brushed the fabric once and slipped, but he didn't stop. He grit his teeth, reached again, and this time he grabbed the edge.

He held on like it was life itself.

He yanked the clothes down and grabbed the metal piece as fast as he could. He couldn't afford to die this early—not again—and he definitely couldn't risk a second death so soon, not with how much it had already hurt.

He still didn't understand why he had been given this Death Loop System, and he wasn't going to find out by dying in a closet.

He clutched the sharpened metal and began sawing at the rope with desperate speed. His hands moved so fast it barely looked human.

Adrenaline had taken over.

Then—

SNAP.

The rope broke, and he dropped to the floor like dead weight.

He landed hard and instantly grabbed his neck, gasping for air through the pain. His lungs struggled to fill, and his throat felt like it had been crushed from the inside out.

But he was alive.

Somehow, he survived.

The whole thing had taken maybe a minute, but it felt like an eternity.

"Sir Lucjan!"

"Sir Lucjan!"

"Are you alright? I heard screaming when I was delivering your food. You also had a sign here that said 'don't enter!' What does that mean, Sir Lucjan?"

So it was true—he really was the son of a noble.

That voice, that concern—it belonged to a maid. And not just any maid.

He could feel it now. A cluster of memories entered his brain.

Not his memories, but Lucjan's.

Information surged into his mind like a dam breaking, and every corner of his brain lit up with names, places, feelings.

It hurts to think. Even trying to focus on a single thought felt like dragging a blade across his skull.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, it stopped.

"I'm doing something! Wait, Aunt Lunella!" he shouted, almost by instinct.

Yes. That was right.

Her name was Aunt Lunella. She wasn't family by blood, but she had always been there. That's what Lucjan remembered—or rather, what Lucian now remembered. She had raised him, looked after him, scolded him. He called her 'Aunt' because she had earned it.

He took a breath, steadied his shaking legs, and opened the closet door.

He glanced around the room. It was beautiful—majestic, even—and almost surreal for someone like him, who had lived as a poor, overworked student scraping by every month.

He moved quickly and carefully to hide the remnants of the suicide attempt. The noose, the cloth, and the piece of sharpened metal—he tucked them away where no one would see. As he did, a thought struck him.

What if the system only brought me into bodies that had already died?

It made a disturbing kind of sense.

He stepped back, steadied himself, and opened the door for Lunella.

She stood there exactly as the memories described—brown hair tied back, brown eyes sharp but kind, and wearing the formal uniform of a noble housemaid.

She looked surprisingly young. But he knew now that she was ten years older than Lucjan. That made her twenty-three, and him thirteen.

Thirteen.

That was how old this body was.

Thirteen, and he had already committed suicide.

Lucian could recall it now—the sword training in the estate's backyard, the constant pressure from his father, and the endless cycle of study, drills, and silent meditation. There was no childhood.

And then there was the girl.

She had blonde hair. He couldn't remember her name, but she had defeated him in a public duel. After that, the humiliation spread like wildfire through the academy. He had become a joke. His pride collapsed.

That's why he did it? Just because of that?

It didn't seem serious enough from the outside. But then again, from the inside—from the mind of a stressed and isolated thirteen-year-old—maybe it felt like everything.

He looked back at Lunella, bowed slightly, and took the food tray from her hands.

Then he closed the door and set the tray down on the small wooden table beside a massive bed draped in red embroidery.

"I need to think…"

The fact that he had transmigrated into another life still felt unreal. Even the idea itself seemed ridiculous to someone like Lucian, who had lived without hope, without even the faintest belief in miracles during his previous life.

And yet, here he was.

He could move. He could speak. He could feel the weight of the room, the texture of the bed linens, the warmth of food still fresh on the tray. He could even recall memories that weren't his. That alone should have broken his grip on reality.

But it hadn't.

Instead, it only raised the question—why?

Why had he been given this chance?

The god gave me this Death Loop to further my punishment. That was the only explanation that made sense. He had already suffered in his past life—physically, mentally, endlessly. If the deity above wanted to break him fully, this was how.

If that was the logic, then did every suffering person get the same system? Did the poor children starving in Africa receive the Death Loop too? Did people in ancient history suffer through lifetime after lifetime, constantly dying and being reborn under this cruel mechanic?

No. That didn't make sense.

It had to be more specific than that.

There had to be something about him—something unique, something the system latched onto—that made him the right candidate. The Death Loop wasn't random. It couldn't be.

But even then… was he really the only one?

No… He couldn't be.

He wasn't special. He wasn't chosen. He was just another broken soul thrown into the grinder.

He slammed his fist on the desk, frustration boiling in his chest.

Why would anyone create a system like this? A tool designed not to guide, but to torture? A mechanism that could drag a person through a thousand lives of pain just to test their endurance?

"This world…" he muttered under his breath. "I need to understand it. I need to know the rules if I want to survive."

He stared at the food tray, untouched, his thoughts still racing.

"I just need to make sure I don't die too many times… before I figure everything out."

By the time he had fully absorbed the memories of Lucjan Wurford, his breakfast was already finished.

From what he recalled, Lucjan Wurford was the third son of the Wurford family, a powerful and wealthy noble house in the Dravoj Kingdom. Their influence wasn't just political—it was geographical. The Wurford family owned entire regions.

He walked to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and stared out at the horizon.

The view was breathtaking.

Acres of farmland stretched into the distance. Cities dotted the land beyond. Wagons moved slowly along cobbled roads, and smoke rose peacefully from chimneys in the nearby villages.

All of it—this vast stretch of land—belonged to the Wurford family.

He was that rich.

But wealth didn't matter.

What mattered was finding a way to remove the Death Loop System. If some higher deity had given him this ability as a punishment, then he would find that god and erase them. He had survived Earth. He could survive this, too.

The clock struck 7:30 AM.

That meant it was time for training.

He stepped out of his room and entered the long, wide hallway of the Wurford mansion. The space was massive—vaulted ceilings, tall windows, golden trim lining the red walls, and ornate carpets soft beneath his boots.

As he walked, a voice echoed down the corridor.

"Yo!"

He turned toward it and saw Luventus Wurford, his older brother.

Luventus had brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a scar across his cheek—a remnant of a training accident from their academy days. He was confident, eccentric, and always carried a grin like he knew something no one else did.

"Sup," Lucjan replied with a casual wave.

"You heading to the practice range?" Luventus asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucjan nodded without slowing down, his pace steady as he made his way toward the courtyard where the family's warriors trained every morning.

As he continued through the hallway, another voice called out—deeper, calm, and unmistakably older.

"Luc, can you give this document to the Master?" the voice asked.

Lucjan turned and saw the speaker holding out a stack of neatly bound papers.

It was Leo Wurford—the eldest son of the Wurford family.

At nineteen, Leo was six years older than Lucjan, and it showed in the way he carried himself.

Lucjan took the papers without protest.

Damn, the Wurford family really had a lot of kids, he thought. Did Father really enjoy doing it with Mother that much?

Even though Lucjan was only the third-born, he was still considered one of the family's most prized members. His intelligence had once been compared to Tesla, a legendary scientist who discovered electricity back in this world.

At the Southern Dravoj Academy, he had held the top rank among all students for a time. But then she appeared.

The blonde girl.

She had somehow taken everything—his top spot, his recognition, and his reputation. Her presence had turned him from a prodigy into a public embarrassment.

He didn't let the memory distract him as he kept walking.

Eventually, he passed a line of maids standing near one of the side halls. They bowed to him in perfect unison.

He nodded back slightly, maintaining the image of who Lucjan Wurford was supposed to be.

Father must be in his office on the second floor…

Lucjan climbed the curved wooden staircase. The craftsmanship of the stairs stood out—dark, polished wood, carved rails, and subtle golden accents along the banisters.

When he reached the second floor, he walked past a long stretch of hallway until he stood before a tall double door. Carved into the center was a brass plaque that read: Mr. Wurford's Office.

He opened it slowly.

Inside, his father sat behind a massive desk, writing something with practiced focus. The room smelled faintly of paper, ink, and pine oil.

Lucjan stepped forward, set the documents on the desk, and spoke.

"Big brother asked me to give these documents to you, Father."

Lowe Wurford looked up briefly. His frame was broad, his mustache and beard precisely trimmed, and his presence filled the room even without him trying.

"Thank you, Luc," he said. "Make sure to train with Otto this morning. You need to reclaim the number one spot in the academy."

Lucjan nodded.

But deep down, doubt settled in his chest.

I don't even know if I can do better than the previous owner of this body…

His concern wasn't unfounded. He didn't know how to handle a blade properly, let alone use the strange force called Principle stored in the memories that weren't originally his.

From what he could gather, his Principle was known as Comprehension.

Right now, it was only at Tier 1—a beginner level.

He knew the words. He even knew what they meant in theory. But in truth, the knowledge wasn't his—it was only residue from Lucjan's mind. He didn't understand it in the way someone truly trained would.

He just remembered it.

He made his way to the training yard, where Mr. Otto—this family's personal combat instructor—was already waiting.

From what he remembered, Otto always had a soft spot for Lucjan. The man preferred teaching him over his other siblings, mostly because Lucjan was quick to learn. His grasp of technique and theory had outpaced even the older Wurford children. That was before, though.

Now Lucjan had to be that student again, even if he barely knew what he was doing.

"Luc! You're late!" Otto's voice rang out from across the yard as soon as he stepped onto the gravel.

Lucjan blinked.

Late?

He looked at the sundial set up nearby. It was 7:46 AM. Training didn't begin until 7:50.

He walked toward Otto with a neutral expression, keeping his confusion in check. Truth be told, even the old Lucjan never knew why Otto kept saying that.

It was just something he always said.

Otto stood tall, arms crossed, scar on his cheek pulled tight from the expression he wore—a mix of irritation and something that looked suspiciously like affection.

Lucjan came to a stop in front of him and tried to look unfazed.

"I'm four minutes early," he said calmly.

"Which is six minutes late," Otto replied without hesitation.

Lucjan blinked again. What kind of logic is that? He decided not to question it out loud.

"Alright!" Otto said, clapping his hands with a thunderous smack. "Let's start today's training with a run across the entire Wurford estate!"

Lucjan blinked. Wait. Did he mean… the whole mansion?

But Otto turned and pointed toward the horizon.

There, farmlands rolled over gentle hills, disappearing into the distance like waves frozen in time. The estate stretched endlessly in that direction.

"You're going to run all the way to the eastern edge of the Wurford land," Otto said. "Then you'll come back here."

Before Lucjan could even process that, Otto turned and pointed in the opposite direction.

"After that, you'll head to the end of the southern fields, and come back again."

Lucjan stared at him.

What did he just say?

"ARE YOU INSANE!?" he shouted, throwing his hands up.

Otto ignored the outburst.

"Also, the time limit is five hours."

Lucjan choked on air. "What? How am I supposed to run that far in just five hours?"

Otto crossed his arms and gave him a satisfied look.

"To be honest with you, five hours is a breeze. I once did it in less than three when I was your age."

Lucjan stared at him in horror. That's insane. Thirteen-year-olds aren't supposed to be able to run twenty miles across a feudal kingdom.

Without another word, Otto turned and walked toward the stables, whistling as he went.

"Get ready, Luc!" he called back cheerfully.

Lucjan stood there for a moment, still processing the fact that he might die a second time from cardio.

---

An hour later…

What the hell did I just experience!?

Lucian gasped for air, his legs burning with every step. He couldn't do this all day—not even close.

He was sprinting as fast as he could down the estate's long winding paths, and Mr. Otto was right beside him—on horseback—eating skewered barbecue like this was some kind of afternoon picnic.

Lucian had only reached mile three after a full hour of running.

That might seem impressive to a normal person, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but it meant nothing when he still had dozens more to go. He had stamina, sure—this body had potential—but that didn't make him immune to exhaustion.

"Come on!" Otto shouted, slapping him on the back of the head without warning.

Lucian stumbled forward and shot him a glare.

"What was that for!?"

The scenery passed by in a blur—farmlands, farmers at work, cows grazing lazily in fenced pastures, caravans creaking by on worn-out wheels.

This was insane.

Lucian, in his past life, never worked out. He didn't play sports. He watched them on TV and admired the athletes like they were aliens. Now he was forced to run like one.

Am I going to die from running?

Yes. That idea had crossed his mind more than once.

And honestly, it didn't feel so far-fetched.

"AHHH!!"

---

Three hours later…

He was deep into the fourth hour of running.

He had managed to cover all but nine miles. His pace had slowed to a crawl. His legs moved like they were made of stone. His vision swam.

Otto was still right beside him, slapping his back or yelling every time he faltered. The man was merciless.

And the worst part?

This was just the first part of training every single day!

Lucian was dying inside. And maybe outside, too.

But then—through the blur, through the dust, through the tears—he saw it.

The outline of the Wurford mansion.

Finally, he was near the fifth percent mark!

---

It took over ten hours for him to complete the first training session of the day.

The exhaustion was overwhelming.

Mr. Otto had not given him a single moment of rest. There were no pauses to drink, no breaks to catch his breath, and no sympathy to be found anywhere.

This life is too cruel for me.

As he stepped into the mansion, his body gave in. He collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. He inhaled deep, painful gulps of air as though he had been suffocating for hours.

Through the nearest window, he saw the sun hanging low. The sky had shifted into shades of orange and gold. It was nearly evening.

And yet, the training was far from over.

In the memories of the previous Lucjan, summer days meant three training sessions. They were not scheduled with care or predictability. Each one was harder than the last, escalating in intensity without warning.

If the first session was already this unbearable, the next two could only be worse.

Back then, the original Lucjan had adapted to the brutality. He was disciplined and hardened, and though the training left him tired, he never faltered. He endured it with grim determination.

Lucian was not built that way.

"Are you alright, Luc?" Otto asked as he entered the hall.

His voice was calm, but his expression was unreadable. He had expected better. Lucjan had always delivered better.

Lucian knew how he looked—out of breath, drained, unfamiliar with the body he inhabited.

The previous Lucjan would never have let himself collapse. He would have remained on his feet, silent and ready for more. Complaining was not part of his character.

Lucian, however, was someone who had always found a way to avoid pain.

"I am… I'm a bit tired though," he said, trying not to sound defeated.

Otto crossed his arms, observing him with a more serious gaze.

"Then you should rest," Otto said. "You're probably still affected by the fight with King Meranne's daughter. If you need time, take it. Rest through the summer if that's what it takes for the old Luc to return."

Lucian let out a slow breath, surprised by the kindness.

That was exactly what he needed.

"Thank you, Mr. Otto."

Otto raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled.

"That's weird. You've never thanked me before. You were always cold. You didn't care about anyone."

I was? Or rather, this body was.

Now that the memories had settled, he remembered the truth. Lucjan Wurford had been cold, calculating, and obsessed with becoming the best. He showed no warmth, no hesitation, and no interest in anything outside of victory.

For someone like that to take their own life seemed impossible.

It was no wonder no one ever thought he would've done it.

Otto had already left the mansion, returning to his own home.

Lucjan—no, that wasn't right. He wasn't Lucjan.

He was Lucian Wrenford.

I am Lucian. My name is Lucian Wrenford. Please… don't forget it.

He slammed his fist into the bed, the frustration burning through him.

On his first day—right after dying in the most brutal way imaginable—he had been forced to run for ten hours straight without a single moment of rest.

That couldn't be coincidence.

He had been right all along. The reason for this Death Loop System was to punish him. The deities had seen his pain, and instead of giving him peace, they had given him this.

And what made it worse—this wasn't even the part where the Death Loop activated. This was still the "normal" part of life.

It was insane.

I want to go back home… with Clementine.

His chest tightened.

He missed her—his little sister, the only person he had ever truly lived for. On Earth, she had been everything. At least there, she had been alive.

But no… that wasn't true anymore.

She had died.

The planet had been attacked, and she had been taken with it.

He clutched the sheets.

I am Lucian Wrenford.

I am Lucian Wrenford.

I am Lucian Wrenford.

He repeated it again and again, hoping the words would anchor him.

Minutes passed like that, his thoughts swirling until exhaustion finally pulled him under.

He hadn't eaten dinner.

He hadn't met the rest of his siblings.

And now, he was asleep.