Loop>Live: Death Loop System In Another World

Lucjan opened his eyes and lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

He turned to the side to check the clock on the nightstand.

It was still early, and every part of him wanted to go back to sleep. Yesterday's events weighed heavy on his mind.

I can't waste time.

He forced himself out of bed, washed his face, and took a quick bath.

The cold water helped clear his head.

After getting dressed, he stepped out of his room to explore the castle.

As he walked through the hallways, he saw many maids and guards moving busily.

The royal castle felt alive and busy, much more crowded than his old home at Wurford Mansion.

While he turned a corner, he noticed someone staring at him sharply. It was Guinevere's eldest brother.

Lucjan paused, but before he could say anything, the man turned away and walked off without a word.

What was that about?

Lucjan shook his head and kept walking. He wouldn't let himself be distracted.

The castle was large, with endless hallways and doors. He kept looking until he came across a small room with an open door.

Inside was a training space. It was simple, just a wooden floor and a few dummies for practice.

There were racks on the wall with training weapons and a small bench against one side. This place is perfect.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, feeling a bit more at ease knowing he had found a place for himself.

This should work. I can try the manual here without anyone disturbing me.

He sat cross-legged on the polished floor. He pulled out the Hollow Iron Doctrine from inside his tunic and laid it on his lap.

He straightened his back, trying once more to enter the first stance: Still Core.

He focused on slowing his breath.

In… out… in… out…

But his mind wouldn't quiet. Regret and doubt kept bubbling up, distracting him.

The sounds of footsteps outside the training room broke his concentration every few seconds.

Focus… I have to do this.

He tried again, following the breathing pattern in the manual: hold the breath for three counts, release slowly for five, then repeat.

A few moments of calm came, but they always shattered under the weight of his memories.

He opened his eyes, exhaling shakily.

I need to know more…

He flipped through the earlier pages of the manual.

They explained what Arc Modes really were: techniques born from a person's philosophy or principle, condensed into a set of movements, breathing patterns, and mental states.

When perfected, an Arc Mode helped someone embody their chosen principle, refining it until it could awaken them to near-Principled levels.

What's a Principled?

His Hollow Iron Doctrine was created by an ancient scholar who sought absolute clarity and unshakable focus.

According to the text, the scholar had nearly become a Principled of Comprehension, but fell just short before dying.

His teachings spread quietly among those who prized knowledge over strength.

So that's why it's so difficult. This Arc Mode wasn't made for battle, but for insight…

Arc Modes were often unique, tailored to the one who created them.

They were handed down through scrolls, word of mouth, or secret tomes.

Many were lost to time, and some families guarded them as precious heirlooms.

He read on about the second stance, called Unyielding Gaze, but the manual said it could only be attempted once Still Core had been fully mastered.

Lucjan sighed heavily. His frustration simmered.

I can't even do the first step… But I have to keep trying.

He stood up, pocketing the manual. He moved through the breathing exercise again, this time incorporating a slow, deliberate step across the room.

But every thought of his failures threw him off balance.

He clenched his fists.

I have to calm down.

He stood up and clenched his fists, trying to calm his breathing.

He reached for the Hollow Iron Doctrine manual and flipped it open again.

According to the manual, he needed to match his thoughts and actions with his Principle if he wanted to start grasping the Arc Mode.

Comprehension… I have to remember that. I have to act like that.

He settled into the first stance as the book described. He tried to quiet his mind, focusing only on his will to comprehend.

His thoughts kept drifting—flashes of his family's deaths, his failures, the weight of his choices—and it nearly broke his concentration.

No, stay focused.

He repeated the motions again. His chest tightened with frustration, but he kept going, repeating the stance over and over.

He tried to breathe in the way the manual explained, letting his Principle flow into his movements.

Minutes passed, each repetition grinding down his doubts bit by bit.

His arms ached, his breathing ragged, but he kept standing.

Then, for just a brief moment, everything aligned—his mind, his stance, his intent—and something deep inside him settled.

A faint, thin aura flickered around his body like a shimmering veil. It was weak and unstable, but it was there. I did it...?

He almost collapsed from exhaustion, but a small smile formed on his face.

Then, a voice echoed above him.

"That's great. You finally took control of the first stance," Guinevere said. She stood on the balcony above the small training area, leaning over the railing as she looked down at him.

"I remember pretty well in the fight that you had a hard time focusing your senses. So pretty much the reason you got defeated was because you never trained your manual properly."

Lucjan nodded, accepting her words. She's right.

The previous Lucjan had pride that blinded him. He thought his natural talent alone would make him strong. He ignored the basics, ignored what the manual taught, and that arrogance led him to defeat.

Now, Lucian knew better. He knew he had to respect what the manual offered.

He looked up at Guinevere, then took a deep breath. He centered himself, recalling the instructions to match his Principle with his stance.

He felt the faint aura returning, his focus sharpening. He watched Guinevere's subtle movements: her eyes shifting, the slight curve of her lips, even the way strands of her golden hair moved with the breeze.

I can see it all.

He stood firm and repeated the first stance again, each motion steadier than before. His breathing synced with his movements, his mind clearer.

He could sense everything around him more precisely—the sway of leaves outside the training room window, the faint echo of footsteps in the hallway, the softness of Guinevere's voice when she spoke again.

"If you can master that stance, you'll gain eyes sharper than an eagle's," she said softly, almost as if encouraging him.

He kept moving, kept focusing, determined to engrave this first stance into his body and soul.

---

Arc modes are pretty much non-fiction self-help books written by ancient figures across Asia.

That's what Lucian thought as he flipped through the worn pages of the manual.

Each stance, each teaching, felt like advice passed down from generations of people who struggled, failed, and learned.

They were ways to become stronger, not just physically, but mentally.

According to the book he held now, arc modes reflected the cultures of Novice Learners, the beginners on the path of power.

Novice Learners stood at the lowest rank in the power hierarchy.

They were people who had only just started to grasp their Principles and were laying the foundation of their strength.

He read carefully, trying to understand the deeper meaning.

Each line explained that arc modes were a tool for Novice Learners to find a direction, to align their beliefs and actions until their Principle began to manifest more powerfully. So that's why these manuals exist… they're like guides to awaken what's inside you.

Hours passed. He practiced each stance, moved with careful intent, and took breaks to absorb what he read.

Sweat covered his forehead, but he kept going. He knew mastering this wouldn't come easy.

Each time he stumbled, he stood up and tried again. Each mistake taught him something new.

Finally, as the evening light turned orange, Lucian closed the manual and exhaled slowly. He looked up to see Guinevere still watching him from the balcony.

"I'm done for today," he said. His muscles ached, his mind felt full, but he knew he had taken a step forward.

Guinevere nodded slightly. "You did well, Lucjan."

The day of practice and study had ended, but a small sense of pride filled his chest.

---

There were three people inside the guesthouse of the Wurford Mansion. One of them wore a mask carved with old symbols. Another was Jobberwocky Falamichi.

"So, this is where the Arc Mode of Merciless and the Blade of Fiery Rage are hidden?" the masked man asked.

"Yes… Now, pay me if I hand them over," Jobberwocky said. "That's why I wanted this land so badly."

The masked man nodded. "Of course."

They walked to a section of the wall. With a loud crack, they smashed it open. Behind the stones, the arc mode manual and the blade lay untouched.

"This is it!"

But, his smile would soon disappear.

"Now pay me," Jobberwocky demanded.

But before he could say more, the masked man grabbed the blade and drove it deep into Jobberwocky's chest.

"Wh-what are you doing…?" Jobberwocky gasped, his hands clutching the blade as pain spread through his body.

The masked man didn't answer. He only watched as Jobberwocky fell. Then he took the arc mode and the blade, turning to leave without a word.