Rising Sun—A cerebral board game of conquest, diplomacy, and betrayal

There are two kinds of people in this world—those who adore Blood Rage (read our review) and those who haven’t played it. (We kid, mostly).

Blood Rage, released in 2015, confirmed Eric Lang as one of the preeminent modern board game designers. The game was driven by a visceral Norse mythology and refined some of the concepts Lang originally explored in 2009’s Chaos in the Old World.

Now, Lang is back with his newest area control game, a socially charged game of blood, honor, and finely sculpted plastic. It’s called Rising Sun. And it is awesome.

History, schmistory

Rising Sun cares little for history. It hurls quite a bit of its feudal Japanese setting in your face—there are Daimyo, Shinto priests, and even Kami gods. There are also contorted dragons, along with legions of Oni towering over the battlefield, severed heads dangling from their belts. The fantastical setting is gorgeous, though it cheerily simplifies the culture it depicts, swapping out the names of difficult-to-pronounce regions for those easier to say in English. (The game’s “research” apparently included mining Wikipedia entries for bogus “Japanese” mythological monsters—not a great sign.)

But Rising Sun is comfortable in its shoes. It doesn’t purport to be a simulation and instead presents a sleek area control design with a backbone of negotiation. As a game based on possessing the most victory points, it does a great job of dressing up the affair in exceptional visuals and dramatic flair.

Tonight we drink tea

The most distinct quality of this design is its focus on bribery and cajoling. The game is broken into four “seasons” that function as three rounds of extended play plus a final sequence of scoring during the winter months. The first phase of each season consists of the “tea ceremony.” Coins and promises exchange hands as hard alliances between pairs of players are formed. These formal bonds will remain throughout the round, yielding mechanical benefits to both participants. At the end of the season the coalition will be broken apart, and a new phase of discussion will begin.

The pairing of hard alliances with their forced dissolution in the context of a single end-game victor makes a magnificent blend. This social dynamic leads to situations where the players may shun the clan at the top of the score board, giving the game a built-in catch-up mechanism. Board position and each faction’s asymmetrical special ability factor into decisions around alliances—as do emotion and coercion. The delightful tension this creates separates Rising Sun from many similar designs in this space.

Much of this politicking is driven by the interesting action-selection device at the heart of play. The mechanism appears inspired by games like Puerto Rico and Twilight Imperium, but Lang’s take on it is sharp—and with a crucial twist.

Traditionally, action-selection mechanics will allow a player to choose one option from a number of actions available to the group each round. Everyone will then perform the selected action, though the initiator often receives an additional benefit or heightened payout. Rising Sun throws a curve ball; instead of choosing from a public display of actions, the current player draws four options from a deck of political mandate tiles. One is immediately executed, while the remaining three go back on top of the pile. Every player will then perform the chosen ability—such as recruiting new troops, moving about the board, or acquiring clan upgrades and monsters—with the active player and their ally each receiving an additional benefit.

Each season contains seven such actions. This means that those who sit early in the player order will do better that round, since they may select more political mandates in that round compared with those near the back of the order. This washes out over the long term but it absolutely matters in the short term when discussing possible alliances and potential benefits. It’s simply one more nuance in a box packed full of them.

Ripples in the pond

Despite the relative simplicity of individual pieces, Rising Sun is an opaque and complex beast. Its sophisticated engine of moving parts can leave you confused, even stunned, at the end, but you’ll definitely want to return for more.

The war phase, comprised of battles occurring in a random selection of regions, is a prime example of grappling with the design’s inherent chaos. There’s a large incentive to move about the board and win conflicts in areas which you haven’t previously conquered. The victor is given a province token worth a small amount of points, but those who are able to win a set of different regions will reap massive bonus scoring. From an incentive standpoint, this is smooth, as it influences a shifting board state and an unpredictable dynamic. Yet it’s also incredibly challenging as you need to harness those actions chosen mostly by other players and execute near-perfect timing to pull off sweeping moves.

Battle resolution presents a similar test. Participants simultaneously place coins for different battle strategies onto their player boards, which are hidden behind screens. (You can commit seppuku—your units ritualistically disemboweling themselves to earn honor— you can take hostages, and you can even profit off the dead by penning their tales in the annals of history.) The player who stacks the most currency on each battle action is the only one who gets to perform it, yet all money is lost to the supply. This creates a very interesting dynamic of bluffing with heightened stakes as you must balance achieving your goals with saving currency for the following battle.

The winner of a battle must split their gold between any losers of the conflict. This results in sly maneuvers such as moving a single warrior into a fight you have no intention of winning, simply hoping to leech money from the victor. Since battles occur in a randomized order, the ability to scoop up some resources in an early fight can be enormous as you can then utilize those coins later in the war phase. The cleverest of players will leverage this strategy to produce dramatic reversals in pivotal confrontations.

Surprisingly enough, the game seems to scale relatively well. While three players feels too limited in terms of negotiation and political entanglements, both four- and five-faction outings prove challenging and appropriately heated. A crucial element of this success is providing an incentive to remain on your own and reject any potential allies. “Betray,” one of the strongest mandates in the game, swaps out opposing figures for your own but can only be performed without penalty by those sans alliance. These shifting priorities and the blurred alliances create a thick haze for players to navigate.

This isn’t Blood Rage, where you can twist out a potent combination of abilities and simply hammer it repeatedly to win. No, Rising Sun is full of sly social maneuvering and tricky outcomes. It offers a gaming experience that you may find yourself pondering for days afterward, second-guessing forced marches and vengeful back-stabs. It’s area control at its finest—and we loved it.

https://arstechnica.com/?p=1257885