The Item Secretary's office was a bust. Rows upon rows of meticulously organized files, each one filled with mind-numbing bureaucratic jargon and not a single clue about the "Grand Fixer of Words."

'This is getting ridiculous,' I thought, tossing aside a particularly dense report on the "Proper Procedures for the Disposal of Summoned Human Refuse." 'Dodon's a goddamn liar, even his paperwork is a labyrinth of bullshit.'

My stomach growled, a low rumble that echoed in the silent office. I hadn't eaten in… well, I'd lost track. The loops reset my body to peak condition, but that didn't mean I wasn't hungry.

'Food,' I thought, the word sparking a primal urge that overshadowed my quest for information. 'I need food.'

I followed my nose, the scent of something savory and greasy leading me down a maze of corridors. I emerged into a large, utilitarian space—the mess hall. It was deserted, the tables overturned, the floor stained with blood. But the serving counter, thankfully, was still stocked with trays of food, most of it cold and unappetizing, but…

There, nestled between a congealed mass of what might have once been mashed potatoes and a tray of suspiciously green gelatin, was a stack of burger patties. Raw, but promising.

'Jackpot,' I thought, my mouth watering.

I fired up one of the grills, the hiss of gas a welcome sound in the otherwise silent hall. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air, a tantalizing aroma that made my stomach growl with anticipation.

Minutes later, I was sinking my teeth into a juicy, perfectly cooked burger, the flavors exploding on my tongue, the warmth spreading through my gut. It was the best damn burger I'd ever tasted.

"After killing everyone here, you just… eat a burger?"

The voice, deep and resonant, sent a shiver down my spine. I glanced up, my burger halfway to my mouth.

The guard from the second confinement layer stood in the doorway, his red eyes narrowed, his dark green hair falling across his shoulders like a tangled mane. He was a towering figure, his armor gleaming under the harsh lights of the mess hall, his presence radiating an aura of power that made the air crackle with tension.

I swallowed my bite of burger, savoring the taste, before meeting his gaze with a defiant smirk.

"An evil piece of shit like you should know that a burger doesn't wait for the corpses of one's enemies to go cold," I said, licking my fingers with exaggerated relish and taking another bite and swallowing. "No, you eat that burger hot, and that's what I'm going to do."

The guard, to my surprise, didn't attack. He simply watched me, his expression unreadable, as I finished my burger, savoring every last bite.

'Well,' I thought, tossing the empty plate onto the counter, 'that was delicious.'

I knew I couldn't win in a fight. Not against this guy. Not yet. But I could at least die on my own terms, with a full stomach and a touch of defiance.

I walked towards the guard, my steps slow and deliberate, my gaze fixed on his. He didn't move, his expression unchanging as I approached.

I stopped inches from him, my heart pounding against my ribs, my breath catching in my throat.

I reached out, my finger extended, and poked him lightly on the nose.

"Boop," I said, my voice a soft squeaky whisper.

The world dissolved into a blinding flash of pain as his hand shot out, his fingers closing around my throat with bone-crushing force.

'Worth it,' I thought, my consciousness fading into darkness, a strange sense of satisfaction washing over me.

"Did you just… boop m-"

The guard's voice, cut off mid-sentence, echoed in my ears as.

—

I was ripped back to the beginning.

"Strange…"

Dodon's voice, flat and emotionless, was as irritating as ever..

'Round whatever,' I thought, my eyes snapping open, my fist already cocked and moving. 'Here we go again.'

The rhythm of the loop had become a grim monotony.

Train, kill, explore, die, repeat. I moved through the first confinement layer like a phantom, my presence a whisper of death, my actions a blur of honed reflexes and brutal efficiency.

The guards were no match for me.

—500/500 reached. For all future gained archetypes, you may add as many skills as you want to create a unique archetype.---

I have no idea what that is…

With my reward gained, even if I have no idea what to use it for or how, I continued through the loops.

—-

They fell before my strikes like wheat before a scythe, their armor offering little protection against my enhanced strength and speed. I dispatched them quickly, efficiently, sometimes with a touch of morbid humor, just to break the monotony.

But the thrill of the hunt was fading, replaced by a gnawing frustration. I was trapped in a cage.

This was a cycle of violence with no clear end in sight.

'There has to be another way,' I thought, my gaze sweeping across the blood-stained floor of the mess hall. 'There has to be more to this than just killing.'

Dodon's cryptic note about the "Grand Fixer of Words" had become an obsession, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. If I could find this mysterious figure, maybe, just maybe, I could unravel the secrets of this twisted world, find a way to break the cycle, to escape this prison.

Five loops. Five loops of relentless pursuit, of following the trail of Dodon's lies, of scouring the facility for any clue, any hint, that might lead me to the Grand Fixer of Words.

And finally, I had a lead.

It wasn't a person, not exactly. It was a process. A flow of information, a chain of command that led from Dodon's office to a specific location: the Item Secretary's office.

'Again?' I thought, my brow furrowing in confusion as I stood before the familiar metal door. 'I already searched this place.'

But something was different this time. The air around the door seemed to shimmer, a subtle distortion that tugged at the edges of my perception.

'Divine Identification.'

Door: A door. Made of metal. Leads to the Item Secretary's office.

Turning to the other door that I had searched through last time, I used it again.

Door: Made of metal. Leads to The (false) office of the (Not actually) Item secretary.

My eye twitched at the other door.

'I didn't see this before,' I thought, my hand hovering over the door handle. 'It's like it… appeared.'

I pushed the door open, stepping into the sterile, utilitarian space. Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls, their metal surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Desks piled high with documents and reports filled the center of the room, creating a maze of bureaucratic clutter.

I started with the paperwork, sifting through the stacks of forms and reports, searching for any mention of the Grand Fixer of Words. Dodon's signature, a flamboyant flourish that seemed to mock the mundane nature of the documents, appeared on every page.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Hours passed. The air grew thick with the scent of dust and stale paper. My eyes ached from the strain of deciphering the Empire's convoluted bureaucratic language.

And still, I found nothing.

'Where the hell is this guy?' I thought, frustration gnawing at me. 'Is he even real?'

My gaze drifted towards the back of the room, It was partially obscured by a stack of overflowing filing cabinets, its surface blending seamlessly with the surrounding wall.

'How did I miss that?' I wondered, a chill running down my spine. 'It's like it was… hidden. In an already hidden room.'

I moved towards the door, my hand reaching for the handle. A sense of anticipation, mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension, surged through me.

Whatever lay beyond that door, it held the key to unraveling the mystery of- something. I had no idea anymore.

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the sterile efficiency of the outer office. It was small, cramped, and cluttered, the air thick with the scent of dust and old paper. A single, battered desk sat in the center of the room, its surface piled high with documents, scrolls, and leather-bound journals.

'This has to be it,' I thought, my pulse quickening with anticipation. 'This is where the Grand Fixer of Words does his fixing.'

I started with the documents, sifting through the stacks of paperwork, my eyes scanning for any mention of the elusive title. Most of it was the same bureaucratic drivel I'd found in Dodon's office: reports, memos, requisition forms, all bearing the ‘Imperial Executor's’ flamboyant signature.

But as I delved deeper, it got more and more ridiculous.

The documents were filled with errors, inconsistencies, and outright fabrications. Dates were wrong, numbers didn't add up, and entire sections seemed to have been lifted verbatim from other reports, with only the names and locations changed.

'This is… moronic,' I thought, my brow furrowing in confusion. 'Even for Dodon.'

I picked up a requisition form for a shipment of "High-Grade Temporal Stabilizers and a side of mulberry jam," my eyes widening as I scanned the details. The requested quantity was absurd, the delivery address a nonexistent ‘in my belly, your majesty the emperor!’, and the authorizing signature… Dodon's distinctive flourish.

'This isn't just incompetence,' I realized, a chill running down my spine. 'This is deliberate reverse-brained stupidity.'

My gaze fell on a leather-bound journal, tucked away in a corner of the desk. Its cover was worn and faded, the leather cracked and dry. I opened it, my fingers tracing the faded ink of the handwritten entries.

"Day 1,472 of my sentence in this bureaucratic hellhole," one entry began. "I get that Dodon has connections. I get that he has his father, Count Hod, to force people to listen to him. But what I don't get is why, every time he fills out paperwork, I have to fix it so it's not filled with absolute bullshit. His Compulsive Liar title may trick some, but I am not easily tricked. If you say nonsense, this old man will definitely know how much nonsense is nonsense."

I flipped through the pages, my eyes skimming over Arellius's increasingly frustrated rants.

"The boy is a goddamn menace!" another entry read. "He doesn't understand the simplest procedures, he can't follow a chain of command, and his grasp of basic arithmetic is… appalling. I swear, if I have to correct one more requisition form for a thousand nonexistent 'Soul-Powered Flesh Golems,' I'm going to shove this shiny ass pen up his ass so far that it comes out the other end!"

A small, faded photograph slipped from between the pages. It depicted a scowling old man with a bushy white beard and piercing blue eyes. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, his expression a mixture of weariness, disdain and general irritation. He stood next to an old lady who scowled at the camera with an equally unpleasant look.

I studied the photograph. 'The Grand Fixer of Words who doesn't goddamn actually have that title. Dodon, just- ugh. What was I expecting, anyway?'

I continued reading, my heart sinking as I pieced together the truth.

Dodon, and the guards I'd been slaughtering with such ruthless efficiency, were the rejects of the Empire. The weak, the incompetent, the expendable. They were stationed in the first confinement layer, tasked with guarding prisoners who were deemed too weak or insignificant to pose a real threat.

'I've been fighting the bottom of the barrel,' I realized, a wave of disgust washing over me. 'The absolute weakest possible enemies.'

And the second-layer guard… the one who had snapped my leg like a twig, the one with the cold, calculating eyes and the aura of inhuman power… he was a different breed entirely.

Arellius's journal hinted at a system of "archetypes," a way for individuals to unlock their true potential, to transcend their limitations and become something more. But the details were vague, incomplete.

'Not enough,' I thought, frustration gnawing at me. 'I need more information.'

The journal contained no mention of the Empire's true goals, their plans for the conquered worlds, or even hints on how to stop them. Those secrets, it seemed, were buried deeper within the facility or not here at all, guarded by enemies far more dangerous than the ones I'd dispatched so far.

'Time to dig deeper,' I thought, closing the journal and tossing it onto the table.

Then I paused.

What the hell am I doing?' I thought, my grip tightening on the worn leather cover of the journal. 'I'm supposed to be getting the hell out of here, not digging through dusty old files.'

Escape. That was the plan. Sancta's dying words, her desperate plea for help, echoed in my memory. I was supposed to break this empire, to save her world. But how could I do that trapped in this concrete cage, surrounded by enemies who could crush me like an insect?

I needed time. I needed power. I needed to understand the rules of this twisted game before I could hope to win.

'Get out,' I muttered, shoving the journal back into the desk drawer. 'Train. Get stronger. Then come back and deal with this mess.'

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a crude, analog device, its hands ticking with a steady, relentless rhythm.

'A few hours,' I thought, my gaze drifting towards the door. 'That's all I have before that second-layer guard comes sniffing around.'

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, centering myself. The familiar interface of my skill board materialized in my mind.

'Time to work.'

I focused on my combat skills, pushing them to their limits, honing my reflexes, refining my technique. I practiced my punches and kicks, my movements becoming more fluid, more powerful with each repetition. I drilled my dodges and counters, my body learning to anticipate attacks, to react with instinctive speed and precision.

I pushed myself until my muscles screamed in protest, until sweat dripped from my brow, until my breath came in ragged gasps. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Not until I was strong enough to break free.

'Archetypes,' I thought, the word echoing in my mind. 'Maybe that's the key.'

If I could unlock this hidden potential, this power that Arellius had hinted at, maybe, just maybe, I could stand a chance against the monsters that lurked in the deeper layers of this facility.

Maybe then, I could finally escape this goddamn dumpster fire of a situation.

—

The Days blurred into a relentless cycle of training and death. I pushed myself to the breaking point, again and again, my body a canvas for pain and exhaustion, my mind a forge for honing skills and strategies.

The first-layer guards were mere distractions, their attacks predictable, their defenses flimsy. I dispatched them with a mix of brutal efficiency and bored amusement, my movements a blur of honed reflexes and calculated violence.

But the second-layer guard… he was a different beast entirely.

I'd faced him countless times, each encounter ending in a swift and brutal defeat. His speed was blinding, his strength inhuman, his every move imbued with a cold, predatory grace that sent shivers down my spine.

'I need an edge,' I thought, my gaze fixed on the swirling vortex of temporal energy that marked the end of another failed loop. 'Something more than just brute force and a handful of skills.'

I experimented with different approaches, different combinations of skills and blessings. I gambled with the Talent Roulette, sacrificing hard-won blessings for a chance at something more powerful, more specialized.

Blessing Acquired: Combat Skill Aptitude (Passive) (x8) (1/3)

Blessing Acquired: Movement Skill Aptitude (Passive) (x7) (1/3)

Blessing Acquired: Body Aptitude: (Passive) (X9)

The gains were incremental, but they added up. My skills climbed higher, my body grew stronger, my movements faster, more fluid. But it wasn't enough.

I hit a wall. A ceiling. A frustrating limit that I couldn't seem to break through.

'Why can't I evolve these skills further?' I thought, frustration gnawing at me. 'I've pushed them to their limits, I've mastered every technique, I've died a thousand deaths trying to break through this barrier.'

Then, a realization dawned, a spark of insight that ignited a fire in my gut.

'The archetypes,' I whispered, the word echoing in the silent chamber. 'That's the key.'

Arellius's journal had hinted at a system of archetypes, a way to transcend the limitations of individual skills and unlock a higher level of power. But the details were vague, incomplete.

I dove back into the journal, scouring its pages for any clue, any hint, that might shed light on this hidden system.

And finally, I found it.

I didn't hesitate.

I dumped all of my martial arts and combat related skills into an archetype. I even threw in the Advanced meditation (2 Evol) I maxed out to two loops ago.

The world dissolved around me, my body convulsing, my senses overloaded. It was like being ripped apart and reassembled, my very essence forged anew.

Archetype Acquired: Legendary (9)/Unique: Massively Mobile Martial Artist.

All martial arts-based skills will be integrated into this archetype from now on.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me, my body seizing up, my vision fading to black.

'I did it,' I thought, a triumphant grin spreading across my face as darkness claimed me.

Then, oblivion.

When I woke, the world was a symphony of pain. My body was a mass of aches and stiffness, my limbs heavy, my head throbbing. I tried to move, to sit up, but a sharp, metallic clang stopped me short.

I was bound, head to toe, in chains. Thick, heavy chains, forged from a metal that gleamed with a sickly, blood-red sheen. They dug into my flesh, constricting my movements, suffocating me.

'What the…' I thought, my mind struggling to process the situation. 'How did this happen?'

Then, the memories flooded back, a torrent of images and sensations: the blinding pain, the overwhelming exhaustion, the system notification announcing my newly acquired archetype.

'Damn it,' I cursed silently. 'Note to self: don't fall asleep, or faint, in a time loop, especially near an event scheduled to happen that is detrimental to you. Especially if your enemies are nearby and extremely powerful.'

I'd let my guard down, lost in the euphoria of my gains. And now, I was paying the price.

Now-

How do I suicide when I can’t move?

Archetype:

Legendary (9)/Unique: Massively Mobile Martial Artist. (Base Evol)

Skills:

Silenced movement: All (2 Evol)(Body/Subterfuge/Movement/Performance/Dexterity): Level 21

Hidden Motion (2 Evol) (Body/Subterfuge): Level 13

Actors stage (2 Evol) (Mind/Subterfuge/Body/Movement/) level 39

Lying (Mind/Subterfuge) level 77

Infuriating call (2 Evol) (Mind/Performance)(Active): Level 100(MAX UNTIL COMPATIBLE ARCHETYPE FOUND)