Assassin’s Creed Shadows: A Withered Legend in the Shadow of Cherry Blossoms

Assassin’s Creed Shadows was released at a time many described as pivotal for Ubisoft. Some presented this new entry in the famous franchise as the French publisher’s last chance, framing it more as a quest for redemption than for triumph. Following the critical and commercial failures of Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora and Star Wars Outlaws, Ubisoft seemed trapped in a creative spiral, mired and disconnected from audience expectations. These titles, meant to signal the triumphant return of a studio once lauded for its rich and innovative open worlds, instead illustrated the exhaustion of a formula, the inflation of generic design, and increasingly disembodied storytelling. In this context, Shadows was anticipated both as a strategic revival and a cultural reclamation attempt for a franchise that, despite recent missteps, remains one of Ubisoft’s defining pillars.

The choice of feudal Japan, long fantasized by the Assassin’s Creed fanbase for over a decade, could have seemed like a mechanical response to a pressing demand, especially after the critical and commercial success of Ghost of Tsushima. Unfortunately, the new setting selected by Ubisoft quickly became caught in a media firestorm, stoked by a reactionary segment of the digital space. The controversy centered on the inclusion of the samurai Yasuke as a playable protagonist. While the existence of this historical figure is documented, despite many uncertainties surrounding his exact status as a samurai or warrior, the presence of this freed African slave, who served under Oda Nobunaga in the late 16th century, was seen by some as “woke insertion” or even an ideological falsification of Japanese history. These criticisms, widely relayed on X, YouTube, and in certain conservative Anglo-American media, revealed less a desire to defend historical accuracy than an urge to protect an essentialist and fantasized vision of it. One might wonder where these fervent defenders of historical fidelity were when Ezio Auditore da Firenze was punching Pope Alexander VI in the Sistine Chapel, or when the Native American Ratonhnhaké:ton was portrayed as a key figure in the American Revolution.

Unfortunately, Ubisoft made a series of communication missteps, which were eagerly seized upon and exaggerated by those obsessed with the company’s downfall. If Assassin’s Creed Shadows includes anachronisms or potentially offensive content for certain groups, it’s worth noting that this has been true of other entries in the franchise, none of which have been subjected to such a torrent of hatred. On the contrary, when Jean-Luc Mélenchon criticized the historical inaccuracies of Assassin’s Creed Unity, he was told to be quiet. At the time, players preferred to praise the game for its incredible historical recreation rather than dwell on the errors, which are often inevitable in projects of such scale. Amidst this media tension, where every misstep was treated as further proof of incompetence by some, the teams at Ubisoft Québec had to shoulder a paradoxical mission: to create a game that could satisfy loyal fans, win back those exasperated with the franchise, and attract newcomers intrigued by both feudal Japan and the promise of a return to the saga’s roots, all while facing hostility from a part of the public seemingly praying for the downfall of Yves Guillemot’s company.

It is within this atmosphere of widespread distrust that Assassin’s Creed Shadows was born. The project aimed to bridge several irreconcilable expectations: on one hand, to reconnect with the franchise’s legacy; on the other, to prove that Ubisoft could still innovate in a genre it helped codify—but in which it now seemed increasingly trapped. Shadows is certainly not an innocent game. It is burdened with stakes far beyond mere video game logic. I wish I could say that this new installment was a rebirth for the saga, or that it spoke to me personally, but sadly, it didn’t. What we have here is a game that crystallizes Ubisoft’s internal dichotomy. It’s a work that radiates a genuine desire to improve and reinvent itself, while still bogged down by the same flaws so often criticized. And I think that’s what bothers me the most. While Shadows didn’t win me over, it’s hard to fault it for not trying. The result is a well-intentioned yet curiously clumsy game.

The wonder of the beginning

When I launched Assassin’s Creed Shadows, it had been years since I last laid hands on an entry in the series, and to be honest, I had long since lost interest in what it had become, in what it still claimed to offer. That once-prestigious name, cradle of so many gaming memories, had become little more than a distant echo, sometimes caught in a news feed, more often than not with a bitter undertone. This former flagship of Ubisoft, which helped shape the very outlines of modern open-world design, had become a burdensome relic in our cultural landscape. It clutters the space, forcing us to put up with it for lack of something better. Many would like to see it go, or, failing that, see it granted a second life, provided its foundations were rebuilt from the ground up. I’d be lying if I claimed I was eagerly awaiting this new installment. Only the choice of feudal Japan as a backdrop had managed to stir a faint curiosity. And to be perfectly honest, it was mostly the controversies, the polemics, the relentless waves surrounding its release that drew me in. Call it morbid curiosity if you will, but I have a particular tenderness for turbulent cultural objects, especially when they stir up ideological waters that run counter to my own. That’s how I began to take an interest in what the game actually had to say, and why I reached out to Ubisoft France for a review code, so I could form my own opinion.

And truth be told, the first ten to fifteen hours I spent with Shadows surprised me, and, for the most part, convinced me. There was a genuine pleasure in exploring these landscapes, a newfound sense of care, as if Ubisoft were finally striving to do better. The character of Naoé alone embodies a welcome return to the franchise’s roots, that is, to stealth. And from that angle, she benefits from particular attention: she has one of the most graceful movement toolkits ever offered by the French publisher. Crawling, rolling on the ground or hiding in mud. it’s a real step forward. It reminded me just how often modern games neglect the potential of grounded gameplay, which I consider an outright heresy, especially when so many of them claim to include stealth mechanics. Metal Gear Solid V is ten years old. And yet, who really follows in its footsteps? Ubisoft, in this case, isn’t just copying. There are ideas here. Take, for instance, the mechanic that lets you crawl through a stream while breathing through a bamboo stalk, like an improvised snorkel. It adds density to the experience, especially for those who opt for the Expert Stealth mode, which gives enemies both horizontal and vertical fields of vision. Gone are the days of carefree rooftop sprints: caution is now the rule, and with it, a slower rhythm that forces us to become one with the shadows.

These ideas made my hours spent with Naoé remarkably enjoyable. It’s no surprise, then, that Ubisoft chose to center the beginning of the adventure around her. Naoé seems to embody the promises conveyed to disappointed veterans of the franchise, like a bridge stretched between memory and renewal. Depending on our pace, it’s perfectly possible to crisscross the Japanese provinces for ten hours or so without encountering Yasuke again, barely glimpsed during a rushed introduction. Here again, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the two characters are not interchangeable, but rather complementary. The contrast between Naoé and Yasuke isn’t based solely on aesthetic or narrative choices: it’s deeply rooted in their gameplay, and tangibly structures our approach to Shadows’ open world. Ubisoft has chosen a strict division between two types of game design, almost antagonistic. On the one hand, Naoé follows a pure stealth approach, inherited from the franchise’s early installments. On the other, Yasuke operates on a direct action model, closer to recent RPGs or third-person brawlers.

With Naoé, it’s all about stealth and vulnerability. She’s clearly at a disadvantage in direct confrontations. Indeed, her resistance is very low, and she can die in three or four hits. This is a deliberate design choice. With her, the game encourages us to prioritize observation, planning, and silent elimination. The tools available, such as smoke bombs, kunai, sonic bombs, and poison weapons, reinforce this approach and encourage methodical play. The fact that Naoé can blend into the darkness, crawl silently, or breathe underwater thanks to a simple reed, demonstrates Ubisoft’s desire to put infiltration back at the center of the experience, with real attention paid to the transitions between exploration, reconnaissance, and execution. Yasuke, on the other hand, operates according to a radically different logic. He is slow, massive, unable to climb buildings or take the vertical routes that traditionally characterize the series. Where Naoé relies on verticality and avoidance, Yasuke imposes a direct, often brutal confrontation. With him, you don’t try to go unnoticed, but to take a hit and hit hard. He’s not an assassin, he’s a tank that sweeps everything in its path.

However, while the idea is good on paper and demonstrates a desire to offer multiple experiences within the game, it also creates some errors. First, there’s a form of structural imbalance between the two styles of play: stealth requires more rigor, more patience, while Yasuke’s approach, often more permissive, favors rapid, even sometimes messy, progression. Second, the complementarity proposed by Ubisoft works more in theory than in practice: it’s rare that the game pushes us to alternate seamlessly between the two characters to respond to a situation. We’re dealing with something more scripted than GTA V’s character switching system mid-mission. But despite these limitations, this duality produces an interesting effect: it forces us to think differently about our relationship to missions. We don’t traverse the same areas in the same way depending on the avatar we’re embodying. Where Naoé invites us to mentally map every line of sight and every corner, Yasuke imposes a more frontal reading of the level design. These are two rhythms of play, two ways of inhabiting the world, and even if their integration sometimes lacks flexibility, the underlying idea remains solid. For the first time in a long time, Assassin’s Creed attempts something structurally distinct within its gameplay, without simply relying on cosmetic variation.

This dual approach to gameplay could have been a mere mechanical gimmick, but it gains in coherence thanks to the clear care Ubisoft has taken in its depiction of feudal Japan. For a series long accused of using historical settings as mere interchangeable backdrops, Shadows marks a notable turning point here. Far from being content with an aesthetic veneer or superficial exoticism, the game offers a true immersion into Japanese culture, with an educational focus that deserves to be commended. This is first felt in the encyclopedic codex, probably one of the most comprehensive in the entire series. Each new region, custom, historical figure, or traditional object is accompanied by a beautifully illustrated fact sheet. These pages, far from being simple informative interludes, become gateways to a better understanding of the world we explore. Their tone is accurate, accessible without being simplistic, and above all respectful in their approach to the social, religious, and political dynamics of the time. There is a genuine effort at cultural popularization, which goes beyond the simple historical context to address elements of daily life: architecture, food, the art of clothing, and spirituality.

This approach is also evident in the game itself, through numerous, often subtle, details. The example of the tea ceremony during one of the game’s main missions is particularly revealing. It’s a suspended moment, where we take the time to observe, listen, and learn about a gesture, an etiquette, from a culture radically different from our own. Shadows doesn’t try to convert everything into gameplay. It sometimes agrees to show, to let exist. These moments, rare in a production of this scale, reflect a form of respect for the culture represented, and more broadly for the player themselves, considered capable of curiosity and attention. Even the most discreet details contribute to this overall coherence. Seeing Naoé or Yasuke remove their shoes before entering a home or temple demonstrates an attention to detail, a desire not to impose Western gameplay on an Oriental setting, but rather to adapt the interaction codes to the culture represented. This may seem anecdotal, but in a medium that often abuses stereotypes or narrative shortcuts, this accuracy deserves to be highlighted.

It would be naive to claim that Shadows completely escapes the industrial production logic that still shapes major licenses. But it would be equally unfair not to acknowledge the real effort made here to inscribe the game in a form of cultural authenticity. Through its codex, its attention to ritual, and a series of well-thought-out details, Ubisoft seems to have understood that a game doesn’t just represent a world: it transmits it, teaches it, makes it habitable. It is in these gestures that Shadows sometimes manages to transcend its status as a product to become a cultural object worthy of attention. But as the hours accumulate and the provinces open up, this initial enthusiasm gradually gives way to a form of weariness. The initial wonder, fueled by discovery, respect for the cultural framework, and the promise of coherent dual-player gameplay, gradually fades. Not because of deliberate player exhaustion, but because Shadows, despite its good intentions, struggles to renew its offerings over time. Behind the polished veneer and initial discoveries, old flaws resurface, like a brutal reminder of the structural limitations of the Ubisoft formula.

The same old routine

There are games we don’t like because of what they are. And others we don’t like for what they could have been. Assassin’s Creed Shadows arguably falls into the second category. This new Ubisoft game isn’t a disaster, but a methodical disappointment with administrative overtones. It’s a title too slick to provoke anger, too hollow to leave an impression, and yet built on such vast promises that it becomes an involuntary witness to its own ruins. By dint of trying to faithfully represent Japanese topography, Ubisoft seems to have forgotten that it was also a gaming space. The choice to reproduce a geographical territory identically, with its mountains, valleys, and dense forests, could have served immersion. Unfortunately, the result is a territory that is difficult to explore. The omnipresent terrain quickly becomes an obstacle. The forests are particularly dense, and therefore unpleasant to explore. Almost every time I ventured into the woods, I felt like I was staring into a mess of pixelated vegetation, barely able to make out my avatar. The hills are particularly steep, meaning our characters were constantly sliding down any slope that got too steep. Because of this, I quickly gave up on the idea of ​​straying from the roads, contenting myself with following Ariadne’s thread to my next destination, like a simple courier seeking to automatically maximize its efficiency. Exploration, though promised as a contemplative pleasure, here becomes a mechanical burden. This Japan is not a world that one enjoys exploring, it is a model where one constantly stumbles. All of this leads one to wonder if playfulness was at the heart of the thinking during the construction of the play area.

The same goes for the assassination mechanics: finding your targets using clues rather than following a floating icon is an interesting idea. You can conduct your own investigation or send scouts to locate your prey. The idea initially flatters the player’s intelligence and curiosity. But this system quickly reveals its limitations. The method doesn’t vary. While it’s fun to follow this gameplay loop for the first few targets, it becomes tedious after a while, especially since the game contains a huge number of targets to assassinate. Following the clues, finding your target, completing four sub-missions, and then launching an assault on the fortress where your enemy is located, again and again, becomes a real torture. What was supposed to produce narrative and playful tension turns into a to-do list. And when the loop repeats itself without surprise, it’s no longer a game, but an alienating task. I remember a friend once telling me that playing Ubisoft games felt like work. Having been away from their work for many years, I must admit that I never really understood the meaning of his words. After finishing Assassin’s Creed Shadows, I can only confirm the relevance of my friend’s words.

This is where the disturbing question finally arises: who is this game for? Because I, as a regular, curious, demanding player, exploring about twenty universes each year, ended up getting bored. Not because Ubisoft’s game is profoundly bad, but because through repetition, recycling, and similar objectives scattered endlessly, Shadows gave me the impression of working. I played like I was checking boxes. I advanced like I was filing files. The pleasure was diluted in the task. The game no longer surprised me; it kept me busy. That’s when I understood: Assassin’s Creed Shadows is not for me or my peers. It was probably designed for another player. A more casual player who only buys one game a year and who therefore needs to be occupied until their next annual purchase. This player isn’t looking for intensity or density, but rather duration. He wants substance, miles, and something to occupy his time. Ubisoft knows this. Ubisoft builds for him. Gigantic content, certainly, but one that endlessly repeats the same thing. Because the important thing isn’t variation, but perceived longevity. And since this type of player often spaces out their gaming sessions over several days, or even weeks, they need to be offered a simplistic experience requiring minimal commitment. But I, in this universe designed to last, felt like I was in the way. This game wasn’t waiting for me to experience it, only for me to empty it of its content. In my opinion, this is a misperception. While I understand the desire to please the general public, I would continue to think that before being able to win and/or keep it, you have to succeed in pleasing the significant niche of regular players.

My other disappointment comes from the flashbacks hidden behind certain side activities, like Naoé’s prayer places. The idea is initially excellent, suggesting that all the side content will offer this kind of surprising little treat, but this is not the case. Very quickly, we have the impression that they are only the remnants of an overly long prologue that has been clumsily cut and distributed throughout the rest of the adventure. After about ten hours of play, they appear without coherence, interrupt the momentum, and sometimes give the strange impression of repeating a tutorial fifteen hours after the beginning. It is quite comical and annoying to experience a memory of Naoé explaining to us how to infiltrate a fortress when we have just liberated ten of them. Moreover, the disappearance of the Shinobi in the last arc of the story reinforces this impression of living a story that has been cut up and mishandled. A central figure at the start, she is not even invited to the final assault to support Yasuke, which, in a work that was intended to be two-headed, is almost an unforgivable omission. As for the connection to the larger narrative of the saga around the Assassins and the Templars, it is so thin that one might think it was a standalone game. Shadows doesn’t really assume its affiliation. It simply recalls the initials on the cover.

Then there’s the surface. Because yes, the game is beautiful. Japan delights us with its colors, the play of light is sumptuous, the twilight atmospheres striking. But this beauty tells nothing. It invokes neither memory, nor emotion, nor presence. It’s not an aesthetic that nourishes the story, only a patina, a facade. A setting we pass by without ever stopping. In the end, all that remains is this weariness: that of having played for a long time, intensely, without getting anything out of it. Assassin’s Creed Shadows isn’t a bad game. It’s a foreign game. Designed for a different rhythm, a different relationship with time, a different type of investment. It didn’t hurt me. It exhausted me. And maybe that’s worse.

I feel like we’ve reached a point in history where enthusiasm for the franchise has waned even among the general public, where repetition creeps insidiously between the mechanics, where we feel the rise of what we thought was averted for a moment: the fatigue of déjà vu, the return of automatisms, Ubisoft’s way of stretching its games like diluting wine. Assassin’s Creed Shadows, despite its brilliance, does not escape the wear and tear of recycled formulas. This feudal Japan, so rich, so meticulously recreated, ends up closing in on itself, trapped by a design where systems take precedence over sensations, and where the writing often seems to be content with a narrative veneer without any real breath.

It’s not so much a shipwreck as a gradual slide toward lukewarmness, toward what one might call the “Ubisoft syndrome”: an aesthetic ambition driven by talented teams, but held back by an editorial structure incapable of reinventing itself other than superficially. Shadows doesn’t lack intentions, but it lacks audacity. It looks to the series’ past without truly confronting it, and it borrows from its competitors without ever equaling them. It is neither a triumphant return nor a revolution. It is a compromise. A game that tries to speak to everyone, and ends up deeply touching no one.

So what remains? Perhaps that bittersweet feeling veterans feel when they watch a legend fade, not in the crash but in the blandness of a prolonged status quo. Yet all is not lost. Shadows shows in places fragments of a possible future based on a more sensory approach to the open world, with a sincere attention to the cultures represented, a desire to differentiate the characters without sinking into uniformity. But for this to fully come about, Ubisoft will have to break away from what shackles it.

It’s no longer enough for Ubisoft to simply change continents, time periods, or heroes to breathe life into its franchise. What Assassin’s Creed demands today isn’t a new take on the character, but a rethinking of its intentions. The studio must stop chasing a form of universality, where each installment attempts to please everyone without ever allowing itself to be singular, risky, or the bearer of a vision. It must rediscover the courage that made the first installments so strong, where we took the time to observe, understand, and become attached.

Perhaps this is, deep down, what we expect from Ubisoft today: not to impress us, but to touch us. Not to become great again, but to become sincere again. To reconnect with the idea that video games can be more than a product, but rather an experience, a journey, a mirror. Because beneath the cherry blossoms, even faded legends can bloom again. On the condition, perhaps, that we finally dare to embrace winter. Shadows isn’t the end of the franchise. But it’s not its revival either. It’s a threshold beyond which Ubisoft will, sooner or later, have to decide. Between recycling and audacity. Between the product and the work.