This review contains spoilers
A legend of too many heroes.
The Calvard Arc (or Kuro/Daybreak) should have been a watershed moment in the Kiseki series. It was billed as the opening act of the next major stage in the Kiseki series’ narrative, which would introduce the then-unknown eastern half of the Zemurian Continent, with the Calvard Republic serving as the bridge between west and east. Falcom’s additional promise of a darker storyline that tied in with the protagonist, Van Arkride’s occupation as a “fixer” who serves both the general public and the underworld also garnered a lot of interest. And these promises could not have come at a better time - the Cold Steel saga had started to become drawn out and predictable, and it felt like the long-running Kiseki series was in dire need of new ideas in order to continue offering scenarios that truly resonated with its players. The sphere of JRPGs in general also clamored for innovation - the genre was in a second golden age with a plethora of new releases coming out over the past decade, but a saturation of releases begets an audience who is no longer easily impressed, and demands something novel and exciting.
The Calvard Republic’s basic premise had long shown a lot of promise with what was teased via allusions and side stories within previous entries in the Kiseki series, and the fanbase held out hope for what would be an incredible arc when its story would finally be told. Tales of corrupt politicians, ruthless mafia families, ethnic tensions over mass immigration, and even magicians conjured up a vignette of an extraordinary country in line with what Kiseki fans come to expect: a Republic with a clean outer image of being built on liberty and democracy following its revolution, yet harboring a seedy underbelly of corruption, vice and strife that may come to the fore at any moment.
And yet, with all this going for it, the Calvard arc has disappointingly given us more of the same. It is the manifestation of a company too afraid to commit to anything in terms of narrative or characterization outside of the tired scenario of a powerful ensemble cast of heroes taking down an antagonist who is either irredeemably evil or manipulated by an outside force.
Kuro no Kiseki II does have a lot going for it despite its faults: the gameplay is phenomenal and its battle system is among the best I’ve experienced in any RPG. Encounters feel high-tempo and exciting whether in the action-based field battles or the turn-based command battles, with the transition between the two being incredibly fluid thanks to the addition of the “EX Chain'' mechanic. Falcom is often known for following, but in terms of Kuro’s battle mechanics they are very much leading the way. The new Marchen Garden is a neat side dungeon to level up your characters and break up the gameplay loop, while offering good rewards for the player going through the trouble of completing its stages (which are themselves not too grindy, unless you want them to be). Aside from that, you get the classic Falcom bang for your buck in the form of a 100-hour campaign and a rich amount of content to enjoy. The cast is still great and still my favorite in the entire series and some of the peripheral party members from the first game take a more active role in the story. That said…
The core of an RPG series like Kiseki has always been its story and characters, however. And no matter how appealing the outer coat of paint looks, the game’s writing is among the most hollow and disappointing in any Kiseki game.
I’ll start by saying time travel mechanic is not the villain here; it initially introduced a sense of stakes not seen in a while, and the despair upon seeing a bad end tends to at least offset the feeling of having an all-powerful ability to reset time (a technique used to great effect in works like Radiant Historia or Re:zero). Where Kuro no Kiseki II really fails is in the actual events of the story. The biggest gripe I’ve had with recent Kiseki games is that many of the antagonists lack proper motivation or characterization, and mainly get shunted into being boss fights at the plot’s convenience rather than because of their own convictions/actions leading to a clash of ideals with the protagonist.
From the outset, the Calvard arc promised a “morally gray story” where enemies can become allies and vice-versa due to the nature of Van’s work, but what it really delivered was a story where allies can become boss fights, not enemies, because all of the potential groups Van can choose to align himself with actually just exist within the same web of “good guys”. There is no real chance that someone like Lucrezia or Walter will ever seriously turn their sword on you, and a lot of doubt has been cast as to whether Ouroboros itself will ever be a proper antagonist again; a true shame considering how compelling they were to fight against in Trails in the Sky.
Worse yet, Kuro no Kiseki and Kuro no Kiseki II actually continue the shallow polarization between “hero” and “villain” that plagued the latter half of the Cold Steel Arc. Characters in this series are now potentially allies (regardless of affiliation, be it to a literal mafia clan, a jaeger corps, or Ouroboros), or outright villains. I have to use the word “villains” rather than “antagonists” because Kiseki itself now draws a parallel between the two. Villains are now irredeemably evil characters with vague, mysterious and/or sadistic goals such as Garden Master and Gerard Dantes, where antagonists can be anyone because the games need boss fights, after all! More often than not, antagonists are manipulated allies, or merely characters in Van’s “web of connections” playing villain for a chapter, before going back to being your friend.
This is shown in Kuro no Kiseki II once again using the incredibly shallow plot device of mind control in its infamous and long-winded Chapter 3, which features characters who would normally be allies going berserk after being shown a vision of a false worldline where some great injustice was inflicted upon them, to the point of fighting against the protagonist or causing a major incident. The absolute worst part of this is that these events are all undone by the time travel mechanic, and as a result, neither advance the game’s narrative nor contribute to any character progression.
The game touches on there being a reason for this; that giving into the false visions (or “Reality Erosions”, as the game calls them) is indicative of inner weakness, which Kuro II goes on to tie into the idea of this weakness being representative of the idea of original sin. In this same vein, it’s stated that our inherent weakness is indeed what makes us human, and we must work to overcome it. This take seems poignant and reasonable enough in and of itself, and yet it still feels so shallow. Why? Well, because that’s the same justification we got for the Erebonian Curse in Cold Steel 4, which felt just as hollow and lacking in stakes now as it did then. Human weakness takes many forms, but has always Kiseki cut its teeth telling human stories about clashes of ideals. Consider the motivations of Loewe in Trails in the Sky, Arios in Trails to Azure, Crow in Trails of Cold Steel 2, and contrast it with the reality we have today, where mind control is the only way for Falcom to give us antagonists that aren’t comically evil. It certainly feels cheap to talk about “weakness” when it’s used to hand wave situations where characters are almost removed of their free will entirely so they can serve as antagonists and boss fights for a chapter or two. Characters in Kiseki from Rean Schwarzer to Aaron Wei’s drunkard, deadbeat father show some form of weakness, but it has value in each of these contexts because it’s part of a wider personal struggle. To apply this same criteria to a situation involving what is essentially mind control just feels like a poor attempt to convince players that these sequences are deeper than they appear, and that they don’t really fall flat in terms of immersion and gravitas.
It’s a trend that’s been around for a couple games now but Kuro II really drove the point home by executing it in a way that’s so poor that it’s impossible to ignore any longer. Needless to say, Kiseki as a series is much worse off for using this plot device, and the Calvard Arc itself, for all its initial promise, is in a very difficult spot if it is to establish itself as being a series of great RPGs.
------
Appreciate you reading if you made it to the end, big ups to the guys who worked on the EN patch as well; stuff like this really benefits the community at-large.
The Calvard Arc (or Kuro/Daybreak) should have been a watershed moment in the Kiseki series. It was billed as the opening act of the next major stage in the Kiseki series’ narrative, which would introduce the then-unknown eastern half of the Zemurian Continent, with the Calvard Republic serving as the bridge between west and east. Falcom’s additional promise of a darker storyline that tied in with the protagonist, Van Arkride’s occupation as a “fixer” who serves both the general public and the underworld also garnered a lot of interest. And these promises could not have come at a better time - the Cold Steel saga had started to become drawn out and predictable, and it felt like the long-running Kiseki series was in dire need of new ideas in order to continue offering scenarios that truly resonated with its players. The sphere of JRPGs in general also clamored for innovation - the genre was in a second golden age with a plethora of new releases coming out over the past decade, but a saturation of releases begets an audience who is no longer easily impressed, and demands something novel and exciting.
The Calvard Republic’s basic premise had long shown a lot of promise with what was teased via allusions and side stories within previous entries in the Kiseki series, and the fanbase held out hope for what would be an incredible arc when its story would finally be told. Tales of corrupt politicians, ruthless mafia families, ethnic tensions over mass immigration, and even magicians conjured up a vignette of an extraordinary country in line with what Kiseki fans come to expect: a Republic with a clean outer image of being built on liberty and democracy following its revolution, yet harboring a seedy underbelly of corruption, vice and strife that may come to the fore at any moment.
And yet, with all this going for it, the Calvard arc has disappointingly given us more of the same. It is the manifestation of a company too afraid to commit to anything in terms of narrative or characterization outside of the tired scenario of a powerful ensemble cast of heroes taking down an antagonist who is either irredeemably evil or manipulated by an outside force.
Kuro no Kiseki II does have a lot going for it despite its faults: the gameplay is phenomenal and its battle system is among the best I’ve experienced in any RPG. Encounters feel high-tempo and exciting whether in the action-based field battles or the turn-based command battles, with the transition between the two being incredibly fluid thanks to the addition of the “EX Chain'' mechanic. Falcom is often known for following, but in terms of Kuro’s battle mechanics they are very much leading the way. The new Marchen Garden is a neat side dungeon to level up your characters and break up the gameplay loop, while offering good rewards for the player going through the trouble of completing its stages (which are themselves not too grindy, unless you want them to be). Aside from that, you get the classic Falcom bang for your buck in the form of a 100-hour campaign and a rich amount of content to enjoy. The cast is still great and still my favorite in the entire series and some of the peripheral party members from the first game take a more active role in the story. That said…
The core of an RPG series like Kiseki has always been its story and characters, however. And no matter how appealing the outer coat of paint looks, the game’s writing is among the most hollow and disappointing in any Kiseki game.
I’ll start by saying time travel mechanic is not the villain here; it initially introduced a sense of stakes not seen in a while, and the despair upon seeing a bad end tends to at least offset the feeling of having an all-powerful ability to reset time (a technique used to great effect in works like Radiant Historia or Re:zero). Where Kuro no Kiseki II really fails is in the actual events of the story. The biggest gripe I’ve had with recent Kiseki games is that many of the antagonists lack proper motivation or characterization, and mainly get shunted into being boss fights at the plot’s convenience rather than because of their own convictions/actions leading to a clash of ideals with the protagonist.
From the outset, the Calvard arc promised a “morally gray story” where enemies can become allies and vice-versa due to the nature of Van’s work, but what it really delivered was a story where allies can become boss fights, not enemies, because all of the potential groups Van can choose to align himself with actually just exist within the same web of “good guys”. There is no real chance that someone like Lucrezia or Walter will ever seriously turn their sword on you, and a lot of doubt has been cast as to whether Ouroboros itself will ever be a proper antagonist again; a true shame considering how compelling they were to fight against in Trails in the Sky.
Worse yet, Kuro no Kiseki and Kuro no Kiseki II actually continue the shallow polarization between “hero” and “villain” that plagued the latter half of the Cold Steel Arc. Characters in this series are now potentially allies (regardless of affiliation, be it to a literal mafia clan, a jaeger corps, or Ouroboros), or outright villains. I have to use the word “villains” rather than “antagonists” because Kiseki itself now draws a parallel between the two. Villains are now irredeemably evil characters with vague, mysterious and/or sadistic goals such as Garden Master and Gerard Dantes, where antagonists can be anyone because the games need boss fights, after all! More often than not, antagonists are manipulated allies, or merely characters in Van’s “web of connections” playing villain for a chapter, before going back to being your friend.
This is shown in Kuro no Kiseki II once again using the incredibly shallow plot device of mind control in its infamous and long-winded Chapter 3, which features characters who would normally be allies going berserk after being shown a vision of a false worldline where some great injustice was inflicted upon them, to the point of fighting against the protagonist or causing a major incident. The absolute worst part of this is that these events are all undone by the time travel mechanic, and as a result, neither advance the game’s narrative nor contribute to any character progression.
The game touches on there being a reason for this; that giving into the false visions (or “Reality Erosions”, as the game calls them) is indicative of inner weakness, which Kuro II goes on to tie into the idea of this weakness being representative of the idea of original sin. In this same vein, it’s stated that our inherent weakness is indeed what makes us human, and we must work to overcome it. This take seems poignant and reasonable enough in and of itself, and yet it still feels so shallow. Why? Well, because that’s the same justification we got for the Erebonian Curse in Cold Steel 4, which felt just as hollow and lacking in stakes now as it did then. Human weakness takes many forms, but has always Kiseki cut its teeth telling human stories about clashes of ideals. Consider the motivations of Loewe in Trails in the Sky, Arios in Trails to Azure, Crow in Trails of Cold Steel 2, and contrast it with the reality we have today, where mind control is the only way for Falcom to give us antagonists that aren’t comically evil. It certainly feels cheap to talk about “weakness” when it’s used to hand wave situations where characters are almost removed of their free will entirely so they can serve as antagonists and boss fights for a chapter or two. Characters in Kiseki from Rean Schwarzer to Aaron Wei’s drunkard, deadbeat father show some form of weakness, but it has value in each of these contexts because it’s part of a wider personal struggle. To apply this same criteria to a situation involving what is essentially mind control just feels like a poor attempt to convince players that these sequences are deeper than they appear, and that they don’t really fall flat in terms of immersion and gravitas.
It’s a trend that’s been around for a couple games now but Kuro II really drove the point home by executing it in a way that’s so poor that it’s impossible to ignore any longer. Needless to say, Kiseki as a series is much worse off for using this plot device, and the Calvard Arc itself, for all its initial promise, is in a very difficult spot if it is to establish itself as being a series of great RPGs.
------
Appreciate you reading if you made it to the end, big ups to the guys who worked on the EN patch as well; stuff like this really benefits the community at-large.