Loop>Live: Death Loop System In Another World

He could hear birds through the window, their soft calls slipping through the silence of the early morning. His body felt stiff, weighed down by the tension of sleep. Slowly, he regained consciousness.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

The time dial on the wall showed 4:30 AM.

It was early—earlier than he wanted it to be—but not unusual for someone like Lucjan. This body had likely woken at this time for years.

What should I do today?

He decided to keep it light. A simple practice routine. Something manageable.

He needed to adapt to this person's lifestyle. He needed to understand this world better and, eventually, figure out the reason he had been cursed with the Death Loop System.

He stood, stretched his body on the floor, and walked to the bathroom connected to his room.

After a quick bath, he dressed and stepped outside the Wurford Mansion.

The air was cold.

The mansion behind him stood tall, its architecture regal and unmistakably noble. The style reminded him of something between medieval design and old European estates. It was massive—three full floors in height and nearly half a kilometer long from end to end.

The first floor was where the family gathered—dining halls, libraries, sitting rooms. The second floor held more important spaces: his father's office, his older brothers' rooms, and even the quarters for some of the senior staff. The third floor was reserved for private bedrooms.

The training grounds were built on the left side of the estate.

It was huge—easily the size of a modern gym back on Earth. His older brothers used it often, but the youngest sibling, the one Lucian hadn't seen yet, avoided it completely.

From what he recalled, Lucjan's mother was no longer alive.

She had died of an illness years ago.

The memory came faintly, like something behind fog. It wasn't his loss—but now it belonged to him too.

He made his way to the training grounds, where the space was mostly empty except for a few worn training dummies stationed in the open field.

The air was cool, and the sky was still tinted with the pale light of dawn.

From one of the nearby huts, he retrieved a wooden sword. Inside the hut, shelves were filled with sample weapons, scrolls, and training manuals—some old and worn, others new and neatly preserved.

Before he began, he paused to scan the manuals lined up on the wooden shelf.

There were titles like The Primordial Sword Lotus Manual, Fangsteel Flow Style, and Twelve Forms of the Azure Wolf. Each one detailed different cultivation-based sword techniques, ranging from precision stances to raw power-focused strikes.

From what he could recall, the previous Lucjan had studied under one in particular—The Hollow Iron Doctrine. It was a rare and high-grade manual, known throughout the Highland Continent for its brutal efficiency and deep comprehension-based flow.

Now that he thought about it, the names of these manuals sounded like something straight out of a cultivation novel.

The Primordial Sword Lotus Manual.

The Hollow Iron Doctrine.

Fangsteel Flow Style.

They didn't sound real. They sounded like something from the web novels and manhuas he used to read late at night—back when he had nothing else to hold onto except fiction.

Those stories had been his only escape.

Reading about cultivation worlds, overpowered protagonists, and endless trials had helped him cope with the reality he had once lived in.

And now… here he was.

Am I really one of those protagonists who gets transmigrated into another body?

No. That didn't feel right.

He didn't believe he was special. He never had. There was no way a god looked down from the heavens and thought, Let's choose him.

He didn't have some chosen destiny.

He wasn't a hero.

He was just someone who died.

Lucian ran a finger along the spine of the manual, letting the weight of that memory settle in.

Then, with the wooden sword in hand, he stepped into the yard.

He took a stance.

And he began to practice.

Each movement was slower than it should have been, less fluid than the memory suggested, but he continued.

He kept going until the time dial struck 7:00 AM.

He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and dropped down onto the ground, breathing heavily.

He had been practicing for hours without a clear structure, no set technique, and no instructor to guide him.

But that was not the reason he trained.

His purpose was to feel how the old Lucjan felt during battle. He needed to understand the confidence, strength, and discipline that defined the previous Lucjan. Without that, he could never become strong enough to carry the expectations that came with this life.

"Yo! Luc, when did you start training?" a voice called from nearby.

It was Luventus, his older brother. As always, he was energetic and casual, walking toward him with a wooden sword in hand.

Luventus was not like Lucjan. He trained occasionally, but his real focus was on his education. He wanted to become a painter and sculptor, not a swordsman.

"Just an hour ago," Lucian replied.

"Stop lying! One of the maids told me you were awake as early as five in the morning!"

Lucian said nothing and simply nodded. He smiled faintly, stood up, and stretched his sore limbs.

Luventus began swinging his practice sword in lazy arcs while continuing the conversation.

"By the way, some of the farmers reported that raiders have been stealing crops again. Father told me to pass the message to you. He wants you to take care of it and recover the stolen goods."

Lucian stood there, silently processing the information.

Another task already…

He had not even mastered Lucjan's technique. He was still adapting to the body and the expectations placed on him.

This responsibility felt suffocating.

It reminded him too much of Earth.

Back then, his parents had placed the burden on him to carry everything. He had taken care of bills, of Clementine, of himself. No one had asked if he could handle it. They had only expected that he would.

Responsibilities had never felt like honor or purpose. They had always felt like punishment.

Now, once again, he was expected to protect others—because this body, this life, came with strength.

And strength, in this world, came with obligations he could not run from.

Riding a white horse named Bertha, Lucian carefully made his way toward the farmlands that had recently been targeted by raiders.

"I can't even rest…" he muttered, slouching slightly in the saddle. "But maybe I can learn something from fighting them. With experience comes understanding. With danger comes growth."

The horse moved at a steady pace as he rode through the quiet countryside. Fields of wheat stretched on either side of him, the wind brushing through them like waves.

As he traveled, another thought crossed his mind.

I haven't seen my youngest brother yet.

That was strange. He had met Leo, Luventus, and recalled the death of his mother from the memories, which had happened just last year. But the youngest son of the Wurford family had been completely absent.

If it happened last year, why is he still locked away in his room?

Unless, of course, he was not in the mansion at all. Perhaps he had left, or been sent somewhere else. Lucian made a note to find out later.

Right now, his focus needed to stay on the farmlands.

The wind shifted as he reached the edge of the territory where the crops had been stolen.

In the distance, he saw several figures wave toward him.

"Lord Lucjan!" one of the farmers called out.

Dozens of them rushed to meet him—men and women alike, all in dusty clothes, some with tools still in hand. Their faces were lined with fatigue, worry, and a hope they didn't quite trust yet.

Lucian slowed Bertha to a stop and dismounted.

One of the older farmers stepped forward and began to explain.

"It started two nights ago. They came while we were all asleep," the man said, his voice rough. "They didn't take everything—just what we stored in the northern sheds. All the grain, potatoes, and a few livestock."

Another farmer, younger and more anxious, added, "They knew where to look. They didn't waste time searching. They went straight to the good stuff."

"They didn't hurt anyone," said a third, a woman with strong arms and a sharper tone, "but they left a mark—some kind of black symbol burned into one of the fence posts."

Lucian's brow furrowed.

He hadn't expected organization. He had assumed a bunch of desperate thieves—not raiders who moved with coordination and left behind warnings.

"Do any of you remember what the symbol looked like?" he asked.

The woman nodded. "I drew it. We figured someone would need to see it."

She handed him a small piece of cloth with a rough drawing on it—a circular mark with jagged lines cutting through the center. It looked more like a brand than a bandit's signature.

Lucian stared at it in silence.

This doesn't feel random.

Lucian folded the cloth and tucked it into the inner lining of his shirt.

"Where did they go after securing the goods? Which direction?" he asked.

The older farmer raised a hand and pointed west—toward the forest that bordered the edge of the Wurford estate, a place far removed from the farmlands.

"They ran into that part of the woods," he said.

Another farmer added, "One of them was huge. I saw him lift a boulder and throw it at the barn like it was nothing."

Lucian turned to look.

The barn in question had its upper ceiling crushed inward. The damage was obvious. Whatever had hit it had enough force to tear through beams and boards.

They're strong, Lucian thought, examining the scene. Stronger than I expected.

I can't die this early. I need to survive at least long enough to understand this world.

He took a slow breath and studied the area. The farmland looked like a battlefield. Crops had been trampled, tools were scattered, wood planks and broken carts littered the soil.

But despite the devastation, Lucian refused to back down.

I can do this. I can do this.

He bounced on his feet a few times, stretching out his arms and legs. His muscles still ached from yesterday's training, but the adrenaline was beginning to rise.

"Alright! Everyone, listen!" he shouted. "I want you all to hide in the barns that are still intact. Do not come out until I return. I'll handle the raiders."

He turned and made his way to one of the supply huts and retrieved a proper weapon.

It was a metal longsword—sleek, well-forged, and gleaming faintly in the morning light. Its name was etched near the hilt: Excalibur Metallic.

This blade was a prototype—a modeled successor to the legendary Excalibur, forged by a Wurford ancestor and passed down through testing generations.

Lucian gripped the sword with both hands.

Then he entered the forest.

---

The trees closed in quickly. The deeper he went, the quieter it became. Birds scattered in the distance. The sound of twigs underfoot marked his slow progress.

He explored the forest for an hour, then two.

The silence was eerie.

No signs of life. Just the occasional claw mark on tree bark, and faint footprints too large to be normal.

Eventually, his stomach growled.

He hadn't eaten breakfast.

Great. I'm starving in a forest, hunting muscle-bound raiders, and I don't even know if I'll survive the first swing.

Still, he pressed forward.

"AHHHH!"

The scream echoed through the forest.

Lucian froze mid-step. He had already traveled at least a kilometer into the woods.

The voice wasn't just distant—it was desperate. There was fear in it, the kind that made your skin crawl.

Without hesitation, he started running toward the sound.

I need to save whoever that is.

He sprinted through the trees, ducking under low branches and leaping over roots. The deeper he went, the darker the forest became. The wind seemed to vanish. The sound of his boots hitting the dirt became the only thing keeping him grounded.

It felt like a horror game from Earth, the kind he had watched but never dared to play.

This is scary as hell.

Then it happened again.

"AHHHH!"

Another scream—this time closer, and different.

It didn't sound like the first one. The pitch was higher.

There's more than one person?

Lucian's heartbeat pounded in his ears as he pushed forward. Leaves slapped against his arms. Twigs cracked under his boots.

He skidded to a stop.

And what he saw made his stomach turn.

There, in the middle of the path, was a human head.

Blood soaked the grass. The ground looked like it had been painted red. The body was nowhere to be seen.

Lucian fell backward onto the ground.

What the—

His breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like this, and never imagined he would.

This wasn't fiction.

This was real.

"I-I need to r-run."

His hands trembled. His legs wouldn't move. His face twisted into a grimace of fear and nausea as he tried to pull himself together.

Then, behind him, a voice rang out.

"Hey, Mr. Genius…"

"You fell for the trap."

Wha—what…?

Lucian shivered. His body tensed as a chill ran through him. Slowly, he turned around.

A tall masked man stood behind him. The mask had unique designs all over it that looked ancient.

The figure was motionless, imposing. A long, curved blade rested across his back, gleaming faintly beneath the filtered light of the forest.

"Who are you!?" Lucian demanded, standing up fast and forcing his body to stop shaking.

He had to be brave now.

He had responsibility.

The masked man tilted his head.

"I won't tell you," he said flatly. His voice was calm, almost bored, as he reached behind his shoulder and slowly touched the hilt of his blade.

Lucian raised Excalibur Metallic with both hands and pointed it forward. His grip was tight.

"I won't let you harm anyone."

The masked man chuckled. It wasn't a loud laugh. It was quiet and cold, like someone enjoying the helplessness of others.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you," he said. "As long as you don't fight back."

He paused.

"But hey… give me the child."

Lucian froze.

"Child?"

Then, from behind a nearby tree, two small figures were thrown into view.

They hit the ground hard.

Two children—no older than ten—stumbled as they landed. They were crying, their faces smeared with dirt and tears. One of them looked bruised. The other clutched their arm in pain.

No… No… No!

"I'll kill both of these children if you don't agree with my offer."

Lucian's stomach twisted.

"What do you want?"

The man didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward, slowly, until his shadow stretched toward Lucian and the children.

"There are two things I need," he said. "The Arc Mode of the Principle of Merciless. And a blade—an ancient weapon forged by a forgotten monk. They're both hidden somewhere within your family's land."

Lucian stared at him, trying to process the words.

"They were buried long ago," the masked man continued. "Your ancestors probably thought they could seal them forever. But that power belongs to me now."

Lucian didn't respond.

"I want you to find them," the man said. "If you don't, I'll return. And next time, it won't just be two children."

The forest was silent.

Then, a chime echoed in Lucian's head—mechanical and unmistakable.

[Side Quest Available]

[Find the Arc Mode of Merciless and the Blade of Fiery Rage]

[Time Limit: 5 Months]

What is this…? Lucian's hands trembled.

The sword in his grip felt heavier than ever.

"Also," the masked man said as he turned to leave, "before I go, I want you to do one more thing for me."

Lucian didn't answer immediately, his eyes still fixed on the man's blade.

"Every Sunday, I want you to bring us food. Enough to feed all of us. Crops, grain, preserved meats—whatever your estate can afford to spare."

Lucian's expression darkened.

"You expect me to become your servant?" he said. "You want me to steal from my own people to feed a group of raiders who kill children?"

The masked man gave a slow, casual shrug.

"It's not stealing if it keeps people alive," he said. "Besides, we don't have a choice. We don't have land. We don't have protection. You do. So we share."

Lucian's hands shook as he gripped Excalibur Metallic tighter.

"You're asking too much," he said through clenched teeth. "You want me to find ancient treasures, risk my life, and feed your people every week—after threatening me and murdering two innocent children in front of me."

His knuckles turned white on the sword hilt.

"I should cut you down where you stand."

The masked man stood silently for a moment. Then he took a step forward.

"You think you can?" he said quietly. "You think strength is just about holding a sword? You couldn't even save two children standing five feet away from you."

Lucian's heart pounded in his chest. His breath grew heavier.

I have to fight. I have to stop this now.

I made a promise. I was given a responsibility.

He locked eyes with the masked man. His muscles tensed. The world narrowed around him.

Then—

BOOM.

A deafening explosion rang out.

Lucian's body froze.

The children—gone.

Blood sprayed the clearing. Fragments of bone, hair, and fabric littered the ground.

He stared at the scene, his brain refusing to accept what his eyes were showing him.

"What… what did you just do…?"

His sword slipped from his hand.

He fell to his knees, shaking, his breath shallow and broken.

I… I failed?

"ARGHHH!"

He collapsed backward, landing hard against the ground. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. His fingers dug into the dirt.

Above him, the masked man stepped forward slowly, his voice now devoid of amusement.

"You failed," he said. "And now you understand."

"It's not that hard to understand, right?"

His voice was calm—but laced with contempt. Every word felt like a slow needle under the skin.

"You attend an academy, don't you?" he continued. "You've read books, you've trained, and you're supposed to be one of the top students in the entire kingdom."

His tone shifted sharply. Anger broke through the cool façade.

"SO HOW ARE YOU THIS STUPID!?"

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Lucian.

"HOW CAN SOMEONE LIKE YOU—SOMEONE WITH YOUR RESOURCES, YOUR TRAINING, YOUR SUPPOSED INTELLIGENCE—BE DUMB ENOUGH TO TRY PLAYING THE HERO AND RISK THE LIVES OF TWO CHILDREN!?"

Lucian didn't answer.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Ah-h-h-h…"

That was all he could manage.

A hollow, broken sound. His voice cracked like glass, and it was empty.

The masked man crouched low.

"Be smarter," he said. "Or you'll keep making mistakes like this."

Then he touched Lucian's chest—just a light press, but it was enough.

Lucian's body began to heat up instantly.

His breath shortened, his muscles locked, and his skin began to burn from the inside.

Am I dying?

The heat surged through his core like fire through dry wood. He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. It felt like every cell in his body was being torn apart from within.

The masked man leaned closer.

"See you next time, Lucjan Wurford…"

He extended one long hand and gently covered Lucian's eyes.

The heat spiked.

His bones felt like they were splitting apart. His vision blurred, white-hot light eating away at everything.

"Don—"

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the clearing, reducing his body to nothing.

His sword hit the ground last.

Lucian Wrenford had died.

This was his first death. But, more would follow.