Loop>Live: Death Loop System In Another World

His eyes opened. The ceiling above him was cracked and blackened. The air was filled with smoke. The walls were scorched. Fire climbed the curtains and crawled through the halls like it had already claimed the mansion as its own.

He was lying in the center of it all. In the middle of the destruction.

Bodies surrounded him.

The corpses of maids, servants, and guards were scattered across the ground. Their injuries were not clean. They were torn apart, sliced, crushed. Blood soaked the rugs and seeped into the wood below. Limbs were twisted unnaturally. Some of the faces were burned beyond recognition.

But what made his stomach churn wasn't just the death. It was familiarity. He knew these people. He had eaten beside them, spoken to them, and trusted them.

Then he looked ahead.

The masked man stood a few steps away. He held a blade.

Lucjan stared at the figure. Even before the man could speak, Lucjan knew. This was his father. Just like how the last time, the masked man had turned out to be his brother.

"Father…" he managed to say, but his voice was broken. It sounded raw, scraped from his throat with effort.

The masked man stepped forward. Each step made the air feel colder, even though the fire still roared around them.

Lucjan backed away on instinct. His arms shook. His legs scraped against broken glass on the ground. His body refused to stand. He could only crawl.

His heart raced. His breathing became uneven. His mouth was dry. His hands were trembling. He glanced to his left, only to be met with the lifeless eyes of a maid. Her chest was split open. Her blood was everywhere.

To his right, more bodies. One man had his face crushed. Another's neck was bent backwards. Their deaths were brutal, deliberate, and unmerciful.

Lucjan shook his head. "No…"

The panic built inside him. He couldn't control it anymore. "ARGHHH!"

He screamed as his voice cracked again. The pain in his chest was unbearable. He knew what had happened. He understood what he had lost.

These people—his people—were gone.

He had failed again.

If he died now, the world would forget this moment. But he wouldn't. He would carry their deaths. He would remember every twisted face and every broken body.

This was the punishment for failing.

"ARGHHH!" His voice broke again as he slammed his fist against the floor.

The masked man still didn't move.

Lucjan looked up, his voice now unrecognizable. "FATHER!"

Tears rolled down his cheeks even though he didn't sob. His face was blank, yet the pain was clear.

The masked man finally moved. He removed the mask.

It was Lowe Wurford. His expression was calm. His eyes were the same as always, but there was blood on his face and his clothes. Blood that didn't belong to him.

Lucjan's voice shook. "You killed them… You killed them all."

Lowe looked down at his son. "Luc, live."

The words didn't make sense. Lucjan blinked. His breathing stopped for a moment.

"What?"

"I said live," his father repeated. "I'm proud of you for trying to save them."

Lucjan's voice cracked. "What are you talking about? You murdered them! You think I'm just going to carry their deaths like it means something now?"

"I'm proud of you," Lowe continued. His voice didn't rise. It stayed steady. "Your mother, Lunette, would have been proud too."

Lucjan's hands clenched into fists. "You can't say that after killing everyone!"

Lowe didn't argue. He didn't raise his voice.

He only raised the blade.

Then, without hesitation, he plunged it into his own abdomen.

STAB.

"Father!"

Lucjan screamed.

Lowe didn't cry out in pain. He only looked at Lucjan one last time. Blood spilled from his mouth.

"I did what I had to," he whispered. "Now it's your turn."

Then, he fell.

His body hit the floor beside the blade he used to kill himself.

Lucjan couldn't speak. His throat closed. His body froze.

He had no idea what to feel anymore.

"FATHER!!!" He looked up the ceiling with no emotion. His mouth was open and his saliva was dropping.

He was on the floor, holding his father's body, as he cried out. There was nothing he could've done.

[Quest Failed]

["You Will Carry The Pain Of Everyone. You Will Forever Remember This As The Day You Have First Failed."]

[YOU HAVE ENCOUNTERED YOUR FIRST ANCHORED DEATH!]

---

Lune sat quietly by the window. The wind outside was calm, but inside the guest house, the silence was thick. Lucjan sat across from him.

Two days had passed since the massacre.

They were the only two left.

The Wurford estate, now a blood-soaked ruin, had become the center of national attention.

The land itself was valuable—too valuable to be left unclaimed.

The Wurford territory stretched across fertile farmlands and natural mineral veins, including three iron-rich mines that supplied Dravoj's eastern provinces.

Beyond that, the Wurford roads connected two major trade routes—one leading to the southern coast, and another to the military strongholds near the Fractured Peaks.

Now, it was a prize. And four powerful names wanted it.

The first was the king himself.

King Isaac Von Meranne had already sent royal surveyors to map out the damage. Officially, the Crown had declared a mourning period for the fallen Wurford family.

Unofficially, they were already preparing the legal groundwork to annex the territory under "emergency provincial reassignment." If successful, the estate would become royal land, taxed directly under the king and bypassing the nobles entirely.

Then came the Falamichi family, merchants-turned-nobility who specialized in luxury exports.

The Ruesser family took a different angle. Known for their religious authority and strong ties with the national Church of Dawnsight, they positioned their claim as a moral and spiritual one.

The last faction was the most dangerous.

The Kamov family, formerly generals in the Dravoj military, now acted as a private military house. They had no interest in legal claims or public approval. Their goal was simple: occupy the land, hold it long enough, and force the king to negotiate.

The four powers moved fast.

Lucjan knew this. He had overheard the reports sent to the estate. He had seen the seals of each house delivered by riders too arrogant to hide their ambitions. To them, the massacre was an opportunity.

They didn't care about the truth. They didn't care who lived or died. The only thing that mattered was ownership.

The guest house may have been temporary, but it was the last structure not claimed. For now, it was safe.

Lucjan stood up from the table and looked out the same window as Lune.

He clenched his jaw.

They're already here. And they think the Wurford name is finished.

"Lune, let's go..."

Lucjan's voice was quiet, but firm. Lune nodded and followed beside him. The guesthouse door closed behind them, and the light of the morning sun stretched across the courtyard like a signal. It was time.

Lucjan had one goal—to secure the Wurford lands before the other factions moved in completely.

If he lost the land now, the blade and the arc mode hidden under the guesthouse basement would fall into the wrong hands. That alone would be catastrophic.

They walked side by side across the cleaned estate. The mansion, once drenched in blood, had been scrubbed and restored by a team sent directly from the capital.

The King had spared no expense. It looked almost as if nothing had happened. But Lucjan remembered. He could still feel the blood under his feet.

The funeral was scheduled next week. The King himself had ordered a national mourning for the Wurford family. Nobles and commoners alike would gather in silence to honor the fallen.

But none of them knew the truth. No one suspected that the masked killer had been Lord Lowe Wurford himself.

Lucjan had made sure of that. He spread the story carefully—only he and Lune survived the attack.

The killer wore a mask, and no one knew who he was. It was vague. But that was the point. Vague lies are easier to believe.

Now, they arrived at the stage built at the center of the estate.

A large crowd had already gathered—farmers, laborers, retired knights, and estate workers. These were the people who lived under the Wurford banner. The people who had seen their lords fall in one night, and came now to hear what came next.

As soon as Lucjan stepped onto the platform, voices erupted.

"Lord Luc!"

"Lord Lucjan, you're alive!"

"Young Lord Wurford!"

He stood still. Lune remained behind him. Lucjan raised his hand once—not to wave, but to ask for silence.

The crowd quieted.

He looked at all of them. Tired men in worn clothes, mothers holding children, guards with their arms crossed. They weren't just an audience. They were witnesses to the fall of a house. And now, they wanted an answer.

Lucjan took a breath and spoke.

"I stand before you not as the son of a dead lord, but as the last living heir of House Wurford."

The people straightened.

"I know what happened two nights ago has left all of you with grief, with fear, with confusion. I know the land was left without guidance, and many of you wondered who would lead next."

He paused.

"Let me make it clear. This land will not be stolen. It will not be handed to foreign nobles or swallowed by politics. As long as I breathe, the Wurford banner will remain raised."

There was a murmur in the crowd. Some nodded. Some clenched their fists.

"I will not allow the King, nor the Falamichi, Ruesser, or Kamov families to turn this place into a battlefield. This is our land. It has fed our children, raised our names, and given us peace."

He stepped forward slightly.

"You followed my father because you believed in his strength. I ask you now to follow me—not because I'm stronger, but because I remember what this land means to us all. I will not abandon it. I will not sell it. And I will not run."

Lune looked at him with wide eyes.

Lucjan lowered his hand.

"I swear to every man, woman, and child here. I will protect this estate. I will rebuild what was lost. And I will not let a single name in this land be erased."

The silence held for a moment longer. Then, someone clapped.

Then another.

And soon, the entire crowd broke into cheers.

"LORD LUCJAN!"

"LONG LIVE WURFORD!"

He didn't smile. There was too much left to do now.

As soon as the speech ended, dozens of hands shot up. The people wanted answers—real ones. Lucjan answered each question with clarity and speed.

His tone was direct, his posture unshaken. Every answer felt prepared, but it wasn't. He simply knew what they needed to hear.

This wasn't the Lucian from before.

That version of him died the moment he saw his father fall on his own blade. The moment he failed to protect even one member of his family. That failure cut deeper than anything else.

Now, he stood as someone else. Not stronger, not colder—just changed.

He turned to his brother.

"Lune, can you tell the others that it's time to begin the feast? The food should be ready."

Lune nodded without question. He headed off with quiet steps.

Lucjan didn't move. He stood there, staring into the crowd that was already beginning to shift and mingle. They were happy.

I hate everyone…

He didn't know when that thought started to repeat. It wasn't true in the full sense. But it felt true in the moment. It wasn't a hatred born of rage. It was resentment.

Why didn't I kill myself?

He blinked slowly.

To be honest, he could have. He had the time. And, in fact, he already tried. Just yesterday, right after waking up again, he had hung himself in his room. The pain was sharp, but short.

Then, nothing. And when he opened his eyes again, the massacre had already passed.

That was his answer. Suicide didn't reset the loop.

His body could die. But the system didn't accept deaths that lacked intent to fight. If he gave up, it punished him. It moved forward.

He messed up.

Not just once. He messed up repeatedly. And yet the world kept dragging him forward, step by step, demanding more from someone who already had nothing left.

He clenched his jaw and lowered his gaze.

No more running. I'll take it all. If I fail again, I'll die trying in a way that counts.

He turned away from the stage and walked down, his coat brushing against his legs. The feast would begin soon.

And he had work to do.

---

He sat in his room, hunched over on the edge of the bed. His nails scratched at the side of his arm—once, twice, then again, harder each time. The skin burned, but he didn't stop.

I can't keep going.

The words looped inside his head with a weight he couldn't throw off. He hated himself. The moment the massacre ended, he began punishing himself. His hatred grew, and so did the urge to make himself feel it physically.

He scratched harder.

Then—

"Brother!"

The door slammed open. Lune stood there.

Lucjan didn't move.

Why is he here?

He remembered how much his little brother cried when it happened. Lune wept for over three hours. He sobbed until he could barely breathe, and Lucjan was the only one who managed to comfort him. That moment drained him more than he realized.

It was exhausting. It was... too much. And yet, somehow, it still wasn't enough.

Lune stepped closer.

"Brother... a mail. It was delivered by one of the King's messengers."

Lucjan looked up. His posture was folded in on itself like a cocoon. He didn't speak right away.

Lune walked over and held out the sealed letter. Lucjan slowly reached for it.

"Alright. Thank you, Lune."

Lune didn't stay long. He gave his brother one more glance, then left the room in silence. His eyes looked heavy. He probably felt guilty. Lucjan could see it—Lune knew just how much responsibility had been pushed onto him.

And there it was again.

Responsibility.

That word kept coming back, over and over again.

Lucjan lowered his eyes to the letter. He didn't open it yet. He held it in his hand and stared at it.

Responsibility... Is this what I'm meant to carry?

He didn't know anymore.

He just sat there.

And the scratching finally stopped.

He glanced at the moon outside his window. Its light passed through the glass without warmth. For a second, he thought it looked like the moon was crying for him.

No. That was just a delusion.

The moon would never cry for him. The sun had never shined for him. The land itself had never cared whether he lived or died. Everything hated him, or at least, that was how it felt.

I need to focus.

He picked up the letter and tore the seal cleanly. The paper unfolded with a soft rustle.

---

"Dear Lucjan Wurford,

It is I, King Isaac Von Meranne. I would like to formally invite you to Southern Dravoj Castle for a discussion regarding the ownership of Wurford land. The meeting will take place tomorrow at 6:00 AM.

You will not be the only guest. Over ten families have received this same invitation. Among them are representatives from the Falamichi, Rassuer, and Kamov families.

This is a political matter now. Let us talk.

—King Isaac Von Meranne"

---

He finished reading.

So, I'm invited. The king wants to talk, and he invited other families too. This isn't just a talk—it's a battle for who controls the Wurford lands.

He tightened his grip on the letter.

They're already circling like vultures. Of course they are.

He stood up.

"I'll go," he said to himself.

No one else was in the room, but it felt right to say it out loud.

He folded the letter carefully and placed it on the desk. His chest felt heavy, but not from fear.

It was from pressure.

He looked at the clock.

He had less than twelve hours to prepare.