Sword & Standing

Two threads decide how far you rise: how well you fight, and whose good opinion you've earned. Neither one is something you can simply buy.

The duel

Steel & stakes.

A duel plays out in real time, not a dice roll behind a menu. You and your opponent each choose a line — high, mid, or low — for both attack and parry, manage the distance between you, and watch your stamina drain. Guess your opponent's line and land a blow; guess wrong and take one. Every bout can be fought to a yield or to the death — the choice, and the consequence, is yours.

An in-game view of a real-time duel at a torii gate, with health and stamina bars
The duel. Real-time high, mid, and low swordplay.

The way of the sword

Ryū & the dueling board.

Train under a ryūha — a sword school with its own style and a ladder of menkyo ranks to climb by drilling its forms. A seasonal dueling board posts challenges you can answer, sending your name to a listed duelist with renown and a purse riding on the outcome. Come the grand tournament, the season's names are gathered into a bracket of live matches, with a full heal between bouts so the sword decides, not attrition.

Scars

A grievous wound in a duel can leave a permanent mark — carried for the rest of that life, a record written on the body.

Named blades

Some swords carry a name and a history of their own — a blade with a past, not just better numbers.

Mercy or the blade

Win a lethal bout and you choose your foe's fate. Lose one, and they choose yours — an honorable lord spares a renowned, honorable enemy; a bandit spares his own kind and beheads the rest. Your honor, renown, and infamy decide whether you rise from the dust.

An in-game view of a lethal duel's final moment — the victor stands over a kneeling foe as the beheading lands, with arterial spray across the dojo screens
Choose the blade, and the coup lands in full. Lethal duels are exactly that — lethal.

Service

Earning a lord's favor.

Swear service to a lord and your standing becomes something he judges, not something you claim. There is no self-promotion — rank is bestowed. Serve well through his duties, petitions, gifts, and steel drawn in his name, and when he decides you've earned it, he raises you a rung on the ladder. Each rank pays a seasonal stipend in mon; the higher ranks put men under your command.

Timed commissions. A lord who trusts you hands you tasks with a deadline attached. Complete one in time and you're rewarded and better regarded; let it lapse, and your standing pays for it.

The court

The imperial court.

Service to a single lord is only the first rung. Beyond every provincial house stands the imperial court itself — the ladder that reaches, in the end, all the way to the emperor. Rank there is rarer and harder-won, and it is bestowed on exactly the same terms: by the people above you, on their judgment of your service, never by decree of your own.

The cost of a day

Your days are numbered.

Every effortful act — a week of training, a courtship visit, a paying job, a trade run, a robbery, pressing a hunt — draws on a pool of energy. The pool holds twenty, and refills in full at the turn of each month — one thirty-day season. It never grows with your stats; it's a flat budget on purpose. So a month is only ever worth so many meaningful acts, and choosing what a day is spent on is the whole game. Walking, travel, menus, resting, and anything forced on you cost nothing.

Draw your blade.

Fight to a yield, or to the death. The choice is always yours.

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