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.

This feels familiar…

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

This feels familiar…

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

4:30 AM? Then, it hit him.

"Did I go back in time after I died?"

He brought his hands to his face and pressed his fingers against his skin, as if trying to confirm that it was truly his. His heart raced as he looked around the familiar room, the details falling into place one by one.

"So every time I die… I return to an earlier point?"

The realization settled into him like a weight.

This wasn't just resurrection.

It was reversal.

The Death Loop System didn't just let him come back. It pulled him back through time—replacing him in a version of the world where the fatal moment hadn't yet happened. He wasn't simply alive again. He was before again.

This isn't immortality. This is a time loop.

He swallowed hard.

It was powerful. Incredibly powerful. If he failed at something, he could retry. He could study the outcome, learn from it, and then go back with the knowledge needed to fix it.

It was like a game—brutal, merciless, but fair in its own twisted way.

But the cost… the cost was still death.

Each restart meant another painful, unforgettable death. And it meant watching others die again and again until he got it right. If he didn't solve the problem, it would keep repeating forever.

What if there's no solution? What if the loop never ends?

He shook the thought away.

No. I need to focus.

There was still the masked man. The threat hadn't changed.

He remembered what the man had said. He wanted something called the Arc Mode of Merciless. And he wanted a weapon—the Blade of Fiery Rage. According to him, both were hidden somewhere within Wurford land.

Lucian opened his mouth, trying to recall the moment it had first appeared.

"It was lik—"

But before he could finish, the familiar chime echoed in his mind.

[Death Detected. Death Limit: 1 / 7]

[Tip: Don't Die!]

Death Limit? So every time he died, there was a limit to it? So he couldn't even die continuously to figure out a solution? He had to manage his death while solving the problem?

Yes. It was harder now that he thought about it. This was no longer a game where you could retry a level forever. He didn't even have unlimited tries.

So if I mess up too many times, it's over. I don't get to start over again.

It was like playing a game that locked you out after too many failures. At some point, it just ended. You lost everything, and now you were done.

That was cruel.

It would've been better if I had unlimited chances. But I can't force the system. It gives what it gives.

It shall be, and so be it.

He did the same routine. Morning arrived like clockwork, the birds chirped at the exact same time, the same conversations echoed in the same pattern, and even the footsteps on the dirt path sounded identical to before.

So everything really was predestined. And now, Luventus had started talking to him again—word for word—the same script as earlier. He explained the farmers' situation like it was the first time, though Luc already knew every part of it.

Luc smiled. A small, warm smile.

"Oh, I see," he replied.

Luventus blinked. "Wait. Wait. You don't smile. Why are you smiling at me?" His eyes narrowed.

"I remember you being depressed because of the daughter of the king. She humiliated you, didn't she?"

"Well, not really. I'm alright now. Actually… I'm very happy right now."

Luventus grinned. "That's great, Luc! You should be happy every time!"

Luc nodded.

His brother's voice still annoyed him sometimes, but this moment felt different. It was fun, and even funny. And now that he thought about it, he really wasn't as depressed as before.

I'm not okay. But I'm better than yesterday. I can smile today. That's something.

He was happy.

And then the screen popped up.

[Path Selected: Path of Happiness]

[This Path Will Have Its Own Consequences]

"What? A path?"

Luc blinked at the message, then slowly exhaled.

Oh, I see… This moment right now, it's different. This must be because I replied differently.

But why would a simple reply trigger a new path? He didn't choose a quest. He didn't take a mission. All he did was smile and say he was happy. That was it.

It was just one sentence. That shouldn't change my fate.

Then he paused. A memory surfaced. Something from his old life. A phrase tossed around by professors and video essays alike.

Is this what they call… the butterfly effect?

He muttered it under his breath as he returned to his room. The door creaked closed behind him.

The morning light cut across the wooden floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulled off his boots, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Butterfly effect. Right. That's the theory where small changes lead to huge consequences. Like how a butterfly flapping its wings can shift the wind currents and eventually cause a tornado across the world.

He stared down at his hands.

So if I smile here—if I show I'm happy now—then somewhere down the line, something big might change.

He didn't like that.

That's terrifying. That means every little thing matters. Every word, every gesture, every choice he makes from now on could ripple across the whole system.

He stood up, grabbed the tray left near the desk, and brought it to the table by the window.

Breakfast had already been delivered. Just rice, dried meat, and a boiled egg—barely warm, but it was enough.

He sat down and started eating slowly.

So it really is like a game. Just not one where you control the outcome through strength. No, this system reacts to how I behave. It reacts to my choices, not just my actions.

He clenched the spoon tighter.

And he started to wonder—

What other "paths" had he missed before?

After breakfast, Lucian left the estate and made his way to the farmlands, where the masked man had once kidnapped the children.

The sun was high, the path was dry, and every step he took felt like walking back into a memory he didn't want to relive. Yet this time, he chose differently.

When he arrived, the farmers greeted him with the same lines they had used in the past.

The way their words aligned gave him a strange sense of déjà vu. He already knew what they were going to say before they said it.

But instead of following the same path, he gave a new answer.

"Alright. If there's any update, contact or send a message to our estate immediately, understood? I won't be entering the forest this time. I'll bait them out instead."

The farmers didn't hide their disappointment. They believed their young lord was running away. And maybe, in some ways, he was.

Lucian didn't argue with that thought. He knew fear when he felt it, and the forest had taken too much from him already. He couldn't afford to lose another life.

He had other priorities—like acquiring the arc mode and the blade before the masked man could reach them first.

After finishing his brief inspection of the area, Lucian returned to the Wurford mansion.

Without speaking to anyone, he entered the private courtyard and trained until his legs could barely hold him up.

He practiced stances again and again, pushing his body through pain, correcting every form, and repeating motions until his muscles memorized them.

The blade he used wasn't special yet, but it would be, once he was strong enough to wield the real one. Sweat drenched his back, and the blisters on his hands reopened, but he didn't stop until the moon began to rise.

Later that night, as he wiped down his arms with a towel, Lucian finally saw him.

His younger brother—Lune Wurford—stepped past his door in silence. He was dressed in silk and his posture stiff.

Lucian didn't speak. He only watched his brother, and something in him twisted at how distant it all felt.

It had been so long since Lune had talked to any of his siblings like family.

When the night deepened and the halls of the mansion fell quiet, Lucian sat in his room, finishing a cup of tea.

That was when Lunella entered. She carried a lantern and a fresh towel, but her face was filled with concern.

"You've been working too hard again," she said, placing the towel on the nearby table. "You didn't even eat dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Lucian replied.

She sat across from him, folding her hands in her lap. "You look better than before. Your eyes aren't as dull anymore."

Lucian gave a short nod. "I'm still figuring things out. But yes, I think… I'm doing better."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He looked down at his hands. They were bruised and swollen. His knuckles were cracked. And still, they were steady.

"I used to feel like I was drowning every second," he said. "But now, I feel like I'm moving again. Maybe not forward. But somewhere."

Lunella smiled faintly. "Even somewhere is better than nowhere."

They sat in silence for a while, not needing to say more.

Lucian leaned back, eyes on the ceiling.

---

For a whole week, he followed a simple routine. He would wake up early, train the entire day, eat breakfast, skip lunch, and finish with a modest dinner. He spent his mornings refining his stances and strikes, his afternoons watching over the farmland, and his evenings avoiding anything suspicious in case the masked man decided to test him again.

It had been one week since he had been transmigrated into this body. One full week since he last saw Clementine.

He felt better now. Stronger, calmer, and more in control. But his goal hadn't changed. He still needed to find out why this had happened to him, and when he did, he would end the one responsible for this curse.

He woke up, took a bath, and walked outside into the training yard. The air was cold, and the sky was pale with early morning light.

Lunella sat on the bench nearby, legs crossed, reading some old book she had found in the estate's library.

He finished a full set of stances, then some more. When his arms burned, he stopped and walked over.

"Aunt Lunella," he said, grabbing the water jug and pouring some into his mouth. "Why doesn't Lune come out of his room? I've only seen him twice all week."

Lunella didn't look up from her book. "I'm not sure myself. Minney says he's been depressed. She doesn't know the reason, though."

He sat down beside her, letting the sword rest on the bench. I need to do something. Just training isn't enough anymore.

He thought in silence, letting the idea settle.

Oh, right. The Arc Mode and the blade of Fiery Rage!

Over the past week, he had spent hours meditating in the early mornings and again at night, doing his best to steady his mind and reflect.

Part of that meditation had been to recall everything he could about Arc Modes.

They weren't just sword styles or manuals. Arc Modes were ancient, structured frameworks built around Principles—sets of combat forms, states of mind, and ways of life developed by people who neared Ascendance, yet never fully became one with their Principle.

They weren't spells, they weren't skills, they weren't styles. But, they were living philosophies—paths written into flesh through repetition and will.

The Hollow Iron Doctrine, for instance, was an Arc Mode. It had structure, form, intention, and a historical path behind it. That's what defines an Arc Mode.

But the previous Lucjan never understood this. He only knew their names. He knew of them because he was a nobility. But commoners, especially those in the outskirts, never heard of them. And in some darker regions of the world, the mere knowledge of an Arc Mode could get you killed.

That was how forbidden some of them were.

Lucian needed to find the Arc Mode of Merciless and the blade of Fiery Rage. He needed them before the masked man did.

And now, there was something else creeping up on his calendar.

The academy.

In two months, it would reopen. And once it did, he'd be face-to-face again with the very people who watched him get humiliated—especially the daughter of the king. The memory of his loss wasn't just alive in their heads. It was carved into their pride.

They would mock him again.

And this time, he had to be ready.

He waved goodbye to Aunt Lunella and headed back to his room. It had been another boring day. All he did was train, meditate, and repeat stances over and over again.

"What a boring day to be Lucjan Wurford!" he shouted, flopping backward onto his bed.

"La la la la… la la la la…"

He started humming nonsense. The song didn't exist. He was just singing whatever came to mind out of pure boredom.

Then, as he stared at the tall ceiling from the comfort of his massive bed, a knock came at the door.

Huh? He sat up.

"Big brother! It's me, Lune!"

What?

His eyes twitched. Why is he knocking on my door?

For the past week, Lune hadn't spoken to anyone. He didn't leave his room, didn't join meals, and barely existed in the estate. Now, suddenly, he was at Luc's door?

"Enter!" Luc said quickly, straightening his back.

To be honest, I'm really nervous right now.

He reached beside the bed and pulled out an old notebook he had stuffed in his closet. He flipped it open and grabbed a pen.

Just in case this turns into something important.

The door opened slowly.

And there he was—Lune Wurford.

He was two years younger, a bit shorter, with soft features and timid steps. His posture looked like it was being held up by fear.

"Lune," Lucjan said gently, "why were you locked in your room for a whole week? From what I remember, you weren't like this before."

Lune stepped inside, then closed the door behind him.

"Well… it's because of something I'm about to tell you now. I've been keeping a secret from everyone in the family," he said, voice low and hesitant. "I tried telling big brother Luventus, but I think he would've just laughed or ignored it."

Luc nodded slowly. "Alright. So, what are you telling me?"

Lune looked down, hesitated, then finally spoke. "Do you know about the chaos in the farmlands? Specifically when the raiders attacked?"

Luc's grip on the pen tightened.

Wait. What is he trying to say? Is he part of them? No—no, calm down. He's not the masked man. That doesn't make sense. Making wild assumptions right now is dangerous. I need to act natural. I need to listen first.

"Yeah," Luc said calmly. "I went there and told the farmers to stay calm. Did something happen? Did they return?"

Lune shook his head quickly. "Not exactly. But… Please, believe me."

His voice was shaking. His legs, too.

Luc glanced down and noticed how badly Lune's knees trembled, how tightly he was holding his sleeves. He looked like he was seconds from breaking.

He's terrified. Luc took a deep breath.

"Sure," he said softly. "I'll believe you."

He clicked his pen and began writing down everything. He didn't know what kind of truth his little brother was about to reveal, but whatever it was, Luc wanted a record of it.

Because if Lune was in danger, or worse, involved in something dangerous, Luc had to help him.

No—he will help him.

That was the plan.

Then, Lune's mouth opened wide.

"Um… I want to tell you this. There was a masked guy that blackmailed me."

What did he just say? Lucjan almost lost control of his expression. His chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat, but he forced his body to remain still.

"Tell me who he is."

"Umm… I don't know who he is, but he forced me to steal an arc mode and a blade hidden in this mansion's basement."

This is bad. This is really bad.

"So, did you give it to him?"

"No, I haven't yet. I wanted to, but I can't. That's why I need your help, big brother."

Lucjan gripped the side of the bed. I can't even defeat that man. I'm not strong enough. Mr. Otto could, maybe, but not me.

"Alright. Have Father contact Mr. Otto. Then let's wait here. I'm not sure how dangerous that masked man is, but I'll defeat him."

That was a lie. He didn't believe it himself.

"Umm… sure…" Lune's eyes dropped to the floor. His voice was barely above a whisper. He looked smaller than usual. His hands trembled in front of him, and his legs wouldn't stay still.

Lucjan didn't say anything. He just stared at his little brother. He's scared. He's not lying about that part. He's truly scared.

Then suddenly—

"Umm… that's him!" Lune pointed behind Lucjan, straight toward the window.

Lucjan's body went cold. His blood rushed to his ears. His limbs tensed up as he slowly turned his head toward the window, his eyes scanning every inch of the outside.

The garden looked the same, the bushes were still, the trees didn't move, and the sky was dim, but there were no shadows, no figures, no one.

There was no masked man.

Then why did Lune point?

"Lune, there's no one th—"

Before Lucjan could finish his sentence, something slammed into the back of his head.

It was hard, it was fast, and it was metal.

The pain hit instantly. His skull rang. His legs gave out, and the world tipped sideways.

He crashed to the floor. His body screamed, but his voice never came out.

Everything blurred. His breath turned shallow. His vision darkened.

But even through that haze, he saw one thing.

Lune.

His little brother stood there. His face twisted in horror. His lips trembled. His arms hung by his side like they had no strength.

He wasn't smiling.

He looked terrified.

He looked like someone who had been forced to betray the only person he trusted.

"Lune…"

Then everything went dark.

---

Lucjan woke up.

His vision blurred as pain throbbed at the back of his head. The air was damp and heavy, and he could feel the dust in his throat.

The room was covered in cobwebs, with crumbling bookshelves lining the walls, and moldy stone beneath his feet. He was tied to a chair, arms and legs bound so tightly that even the slightest twitch sent pain down his limbs.

Where am I...? What happened...? Then it hit him.

Lune. Lune!

"Lune! Where are you!?" he shouted, struggling against the ropes even though it burned to move.

Footsteps echoed in the distance.

Out of the shadows stepped the masked man—the same one who killed him before, wearing the same ancient mask, with empty eyes behind them.

"Where's Lune!? What did you do to him!?" Lucjan shouted again.

The masked man stepped closer.

"Luc, I already killed everyone in the Wurford family. Your brothers, your father, the servants, and the guards. Every last one of them. You're the only one still alive."

Lucjan's eyes widened. His stomach dropped.

"No... That's not possible! Why!? Why would you do that!? Why won't you just leave me alone!? Why can't I have a peaceful life for once!? Why are you always standing in my way!?"

The man stood still.

"Yell all you want, but it won't change anything. You can't undo what's already done. You can't change the past."

Lucjan shook his head violently. "Yes, I can! I will! I'll bring them all back! I'll find a way to fix this and I'll save everyone, even Lune, no matter what you did to him!"

The masked figure didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowly raised his hand to the side of his face.

Lucjan tensed.

The man gripped the edge of his mask, held it for a second, then removed it in one slow, smooth motion.

The mask fell from his hand and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Lucjan's breath stopped.

Standing in front of him wasn't some stranger or enemy.

It was Lune.

Lucjan's lips parted, but no sound came out. His throat tightened, and he couldn't breathe.

"L-Lune…?"

Lune's face was pale. His eyes were empty. There was no light in them, no hate, no sadness—just exhaustion.

"I waited," Lune said quietly. "I waited for someone to notice. I waited for someone to ask me if I was okay."

Lucjan's voice cracked. "You didn't tell me. You didn't say anything. I didn't know anything was wrong."

"I begged," Lune said. "Not with words. But I begged. I tried to tell Luventus. I tried to tell you. I dropped hints again and again, but no one ever listened. No one ever paid attention."

Lucjan pulled hard at the restraints, trying to break free.

"I'm listening now, Lune! I swear I'm listening! Please, just talk to me!"

"I started to think," Lune continued, "that maybe I didn't need to be heard anymore. Maybe if the world didn't care, then I didn't need to care either. Maybe if no one wanted to see me, then this world didn't deserve to be seen either."

Lucjan shook his head, desperately. "You're not thinking clearly. You're just in pain. That's not you talking, Lune. That's your hurt. I know you. This isn't who you are."

"I've been thinking clearly for a long time," Lune replied, his voice low and calm. "You don't know what it's like to be ignored in your own house. To be surrounded by people who are supposed to care and still feel invisible."

Lucjan felt tears run down his face. "You're not invisible. I swear you're not. You were never invisible to me."

"Yes, I was," Lune said flatly. "You looked at me like I was fragile. Like I had to be protected. But you never really saw me. You never tried to understand me."

Lune stepped closer, slowly, one foot after another.

"You were always the one with talent. The one people believed in. Even when you failed, they hoped for your return. They cheered for you. But no one ever looked at me like that."

Lucjan's voice trembled. "You're wrong. You're wrong about that. We can still fix this, Lune. We still have time. Just stop this now, and we can figure it out. I'll help you, I promise."

Lune didn't flinch. His expression didn't change.

"It's too late."

"You're not a killer, Lune! You're not like this!"

"I wasn't," Lune said, taking another step forward. "But the world turned me into one."

He raised his hand slowly, gently.

Lucjan's whole body tensed as Lune placed two fingers on his forehead.

"I loved you," Lune whispered, "but this world made me hate everything."

Lucjan closed his eyes.

"Please—don't—"

"Goodbye, big brother."

There was no scream. Just a single flash of pain.

And then, Lucjan died.