For a long time, I’ve wanted someone to make an open-world game like Ghost of Tsushima, the already immensely popular samurai epic from Sucker Punch Productions. Films by Akira Kurosawa were instrumental in shaping my love for cinema, and when my interests gradually shifted toward games, I began dreaming of a counterpart that could capture the same spirit.
Much to my delight, Ghost of Tsushima comes remarkably close to fulfilling that dream. It allows me to participate in the birth of a new legend—one so confident that I feel no need to look back at Seven Samurai or Zatoichi, only forward toward inevitable sequels and future inspirations. In a celebratory gesture, the game even includes a “Kurosawa Mode,” applying a grainy black-and-white filter and compressed audio. The future is here, and it respectfully looks to the past.
THE ORIGIN OF THE GHOST
The Ghost’s real name is Jin Sakai, a samurai from the island of Tsushima, situated between mainland Japan and the Korean peninsula. Orphaned at a young age, Jin is raised by his uncle, Lord Shimura, who instills in him the principles of bushidō—the samurai code of honor and tradition. When the game opens in 1274, the first Mongol invasion of Japan is underway, and Tsushima is among the first to fall.
This is very much an origin story: the making of a reluctant symbol of resistance, embraced by the peasantry and condemned by the ruling elite. The Mongols fight without honor, wielding siege weapons and psychological terror. The opening cinematic shows the samurai charge—led by Lord Shimura—ending in brutal defeat. Shimura is captured by the Mongol leader, Khotun Khan, and Jin is left for dead.
He survives thanks to Yuna, a thief who nurses him back to health and becomes his guide. The first act centers on rescuing Shimura, but also establishes the game’s deeper conflict: tradition versus survival. The samurai code demands open confrontation, yet the Mongols’ tactics render it obsolete. Under Yuna’s influence, Jin begins adopting shinobi methods—stealth, assassination, deception—much to his uncle’s horror.
UPFRONT OR COVERT
Combat offers constant flexibility. You can creep through tall pampas grass, assassinate isolated enemies, ignite powder kegs with flaming arrows, throw kunai to stagger foes, or poison enemies from afar. When discovered, you can instantly shift into open combat, switching stances and relying on refined swordplay, gadgets, and defensive techniques.
On paper, none of this sounds particularly novel. Anyone familiar with Assassin’s Creed will recognize the template: third-person stealth, climbing, sword combat, quest markers, loot upgrades, and a largely predetermined narrative. Yet Ghost of Tsushima is polished to such a degree that these familiar systems feel consistently engaging rather than perfunctory.
Where the game distinguishes itself is in nuance. Jin’s movements prioritize efficiency over spectacle. Sword fights are swift and lethal. Defenses are sturdy, dodging is powerful, and when approaching enemy groups you can challenge their leader to a standoff—an explicit nod to Sanjuro—which grows more intimidating as Jin’s legend spreads.
While none of these systems are especially deep (certainly not on the level of Thief or Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice), I appreciate the philosophy of allowing the player to master everything. Skill points are plentiful, and nothing is permanently locked away, rejecting the exclusionary tendencies of traditional RPG progression.
A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY
Beyond mechanics, Ghost of Tsushima achieves something rare in open-world design. Jin is not a tourist in an exotic land—this is his home. Exploration is not driven by curiosity, but by reverence. The landscapes—windswept fields, roaring seas, crimson forests—are spaces of emotional grounding.
Navigation reinforces this. Instead of a minimap obsession, the guiding wind leads you organically, while animals guide you to meaningful locations. Menus recede, and the world takes center stage.
At quiet points, Jin composes haiku, bathes in hot springs to reflect on his past, strengthens his resolve through bamboo strikes, or plays the flute to change the weather. These activities are not filler; they are expressions of grief, attachment, and loss. One side quest had me discover slaughtered foxes and desecrated shrines, the invaders having severed a bond I had come to cherish. It genuinely angered me.
SUMMARY
The main story may not break new ground, but it avoids the most predictable routes. Side quests explore honor, loyalty, and sacrifice through intimate character studies. Eventually, the narrative circles back in a final scene that lands with surprising force, emphasizing how invasion scars survivors long after the fighting ends.
If anything holds Ghost of Tsushima back, it’s the relative lack of unique lore rewards for freeform exploration. Most discoveries are cosmetic, which can make venturing far off the beaten path feel underwhelming. The game’s appeal is systemic and experiential rather than encyclopedic.
Ghost of Tsushima is less sermon than meditation. It exists to be inhabited, felt, and absorbed. Early on, it gave me refuge from the real world. Later, as the land suffered, I felt genuine loss. Few games have made me so eager to return—not to conquer, but to restore. I could not allow Tsushima to become a paradise lost.
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