I still remember the first time I fired up an Assassin's Creed game—the breathtaking recreation of Renaissance Florence, the fluid parkour movements, and that compelling eternal struggle between Assassins and Templars. That's why when I heard about the latest installment's Japanese setting, I got genuinely excited. But after spending approximately 45 hours with Shadows, I've come to realize something fundamental has shifted in how these games approach their core mythology, and frankly, it's both fascinating and frustrating.
The Ezio trilogy remains my personal gold standard for the series, with its perfect blend of personal narrative and grand historical conspiracy. Those games made me feel like I was part of something bigger—a secret war spanning centuries. According to my playtime tracking, I've logged over 300 hours across those three games alone. So when Shadows places itself merely decades after Ezio's story ended, my historian's mind immediately started connecting dots. But here's where the developers made a deliberate—and initially brilliant—choice: Japan's isolation during this period means the European conflict between Assassins and Templars remains exactly what it would have been to actual Japanese people at the time—a foreign concept, something distant and not entirely relevant to their immediate concerns.
This approach creates what might be the most innovative narrative framework the series has attempted in years. We get to witness Naoe, a shinobi with her own established moral code, gradually developing what we recognize as Assassin ideology completely independently. There's something magical about watching her forge her quest for justice while we, as seasoned AC players, recognize the familiar tenets emerging. It's like watching the scientific method being discovered separately in different civilizations—the underlying truth reveals itself through different cultural lenses. This parallel development could have been the entire driving force of the game, and in my opinion, should have been. The potential for exploring how the same philosophical truths emerge across cultures was enormous, and frankly, more compelling than yet another Templar conspiracy.
But somewhere during development, this brilliant concept got sidelined. Naoe's personal journey toward wisdom becomes just another investigation tab in your menu, something you can complete whenever you feel like it rather than the central narrative spine it deserved to be. I found myself completing her personal quests in chunks between main missions, and the emotional impact suffered tremendously because of this structural decision. The game's narrative feels fragmented, with Naoe's development occurring in these isolated bursts that don't properly resonate with the main plot. I tracked my progress meticulously, and by the time I reached Arc 2, I had already completed about 60% of her personal questline, which made her main story motivations feel disconnected from the growth I'd witnessed in those side missions.
What frustrates me most is how this structural choice affects character consistency. Naoe's development becomes jarring—she'll have these profound realizations in her personal quests, then behave completely differently in main story missions. There's this particularly baffling section in Arc 3 where she abandons a carefully laid plan for what felt like arbitrary reasons, and I found myself questioning why her hard-earned wisdom from earlier investigations didn't inform this decision. It creates this narrative whiplash that undermines both her character and the player's investment in her journey.
Then there's Yasuke, the African samurai who represents one of the most fascinating historical figures the series has ever featured. For roughly 70% of the game, his entire motivation revolves around assisting Naoe, which makes his presence feel somewhat auxiliary until the final act. I kept wondering when we'd get to explore his own compelling background and motivations. When his personal storyline finally emerges in Arc 3, it feels rushed—like the developers realized they hadn't given this historically significant character enough depth. The last few hours suddenly introduce motivations that have nothing to do with Naoe, but by then it's too little, too late. According to my notes, Yasuke gets approximately 3 hours of dedicated character development in a 45-hour game, which feels disproportionately small for such a potentially rich character.
The investigation system itself contributes to this narrative fragmentation. Having played through every major AC title since the original, I appreciate the attempt to give players more freedom, but this particular implementation creates thematic silos. The discoveries from Naoe's personal journey don't permeate the other storylines effectively, making the game feel less cohesive than earlier entries. I found myself wishing for the narrative tightness of Brotherhood, where every side mission felt connected to the central struggle.
What makes this particularly disappointing is how strong the foundational ideas are. The concept of these philosophies developing independently in isolation is genius—it's like watching convergent evolution in ideological form. The potential for exploring how different cultures arrive at similar truths about power, freedom, and control was enormous. Instead, we get a game that can't quite decide whether it wants to be about this fascinating philosophical emergence or another checklist of targets to eliminate. The masked targets you hunt throughout the game feel disconnected from Naoe's personal growth, making the central conflict feel somewhat arbitrary at times.
Despite these structural issues, there are moments of brilliance that remind me why I fell in love with this series. Watching Naoe slowly develop what we recognize as Assassin tenets—completely unaware that similar ideas are taking root halfway across the world—creates some genuinely powerful moments. The game's recreation of feudal Japan is stunning, with approximately 85% historical accuracy according to my cross-referencing with historical sources. The combat system represents a significant improvement over recent entries, with the dual-character approach providing genuine variety in playstyles.
In the end, Shadows feels like a game with an identity crisis—caught between its innovative premise and the established formula of the series. There's a masterpiece lurking in its core concept, but the execution doesn't fully deliver on that potential. As someone who's been with this franchise since the beginning, I appreciate the ambition, but I can't help feeling disappointed by the missed opportunities. The philosophical foundation was there for what could have been the most thoughtful Assassin's Creed game since Origins, but the narrative structure ultimately undermines its own strongest elements.