Why Suikoden Deserves More Recognition
The used game bin at Electronics Boutique (yeah, I’m dating myself here) was my hunting ground during college. Limited budget, maximum time to play—the perfect storm for a bargain-hunting RPG addict. That’s where I found it: a plain jewel case with a handwritten label reading “Suikoden” and a $15 price tag. No manual, no box, just a mysterious disc promising 40+ hours of escape from my statistical analysis homework. “It’s like Final Fantasy but with way more characters,” the clerk told me with surprising enthusiasm. “Seriously underrated.” He had no idea how right he was, or that his casual recommendation would spark a two-decade obsession.
I popped that disc into my PlayStation that night, expecting a Final Fantasy clone to tide me over until the next big Square release. What I got instead was a gaming experience that fundamentally changed what I thought RPGs could be. The Suikoden series—particularly Suikoden II, which I tracked down like a man possessed after finishing the first game—embodies a unique approach to the genre that still hasn’t been fully replicated, even as we approach 30 years since its debut.
The Suikoden 108 Stars of Destiny recruitment system is the series’ most distinctive feature, and what ultimately hooked me like no other RPG mechanic before or since. Inspired by the Chinese classic “Water Margin,” each game tasks you with finding and recruiting 108 unique characters to your cause. These aren’t just nameless soldiers or interchangeable party fillers—each has their own personality, backstory, and often complex recruitment requirements. Some join through main story events, others through obscure side quests, and some require specific party members or previous recruits to convince them.
I filled an entire notebook with recruitment information, character stats, and locations. My roommate Dave would peer over my shoulder at this increasingly chaotic document and shake his head. “You know this isn’t actually coursework, right?” he’d ask. Easy for him to say—he wasn’t trying to figure out how to recruit Humphrey without accidentally triggering the event that would make Futch permanently unavailable. The stress was real.
What makes this system special isn’t just the number of characters (though 108 was staggering for the time) but how it integrates with every other aspect of the game. The Suikoden castle headquarters expansion gameplay evolves directly from your recruitment success. Start with a dusty, abandoned fortress, and watch it transform into a thriving community as blacksmiths, runemasters, shopkeepers, and warriors join your cause. I’d often spend half an hour just wandering around my castle after recruiting a new batch of Stars, talking to everyone, seeing how they interacted, discovering new shops or features that had opened up.
One of my favorite memories from Suikoden II was finally recruiting the master chef, watching him take over the castle kitchen, and then discovering that the previously mediocre meals served in the castle now provided better stat boosts. These weren’t just cosmetic changes—every recruitment meaningfully impacted gameplay. The castle became a living, evolving entity that reflected your progress in a way that most RPG hubs simply don’t.
The Suikoden army battle tactical system provided yet another layer of strategic depth. Unlike most RPGs where large-scale conflicts are relegated to cutscenes, Suikoden puts you in command of actual armies. These turn-based strategic encounters operate on a rock-paper-scissors system that’s simple to learn but allows for surprising depth when combined with special units and tactics. The number of units available to you directly correlates with how many Stars of Destiny you’ve recruited, creating a tangible gameplay benefit to your recruitment efforts.
I still remember the first major army battle in Suikoden II, facing off against Highland forces with my ragtag liberation army. The rush of directing troops, making critical decisions about whether to charge or defend, and seeing characters I’d recruited personally leading units into battle created an emotional investment I rarely felt in RPG combat. When Viktor’s unit scored a critical hit against Solon Jhee’s forces, I actually pumped my fist and shouted loud enough for my neighbor to bang on the wall in protest. Sorry, Mrs. Caldwell, but this was war.
The standard combat system deserves mention too. Where most JRPGs of the era stuck to three or four-person parties, Suikoden offered six-character battles with an innovative positioning system that affected both attack ranges and vulnerability. Add in the Suikoden rune magic system elemental with its balance of personal runes (equipped to individuals) and true runes (powerful artifacts central to the story), and you had combat that remained fresh even after hundreds of encounters.
The combination attack system was particularly satisfying. Discovering that certain character combinations could unleash devastating joint attacks led to endless experimentation with party compositions. Finding out through pure chance that Flik and Viktor could perform the “Cross Attack” in the original Suikoden sent me on a quest to discover every possible combination. I maintained a separate section in my notebook just for these discoveries, complete with crude drawings of the attack animations. My girlfriend at the time (now my ex-wife, make of that what you will) found this notebook while cleaning and genuinely worried I was developing some kind of obsessive condition. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
What truly elevates Suikoden above most of its JRPG contemporaries is the Suikoden political narrative war complexity. While Final Fantasy and other series certainly tackle serious themes, Suikoden’s approach to political storytelling feels distinctly mature. You’re not saving the world from a cackling supernatural villain—you’re navigating complex geopolitical conflicts where good and evil are rarely clear-cut. The Highland Kingdom in Suikoden II isn’t simply evil; it’s a nation with its own legitimate interests and grievances, led by people with understandable (if ultimately corrupted) motivations.
Suikoden II’s Jowy Atreides remains one of gaming’s most complex antagonists—a former friend whose path diverges from yours not through some dramatic betrayal, but through a series of understandable choices based on different perspectives about how to achieve peace. The scene where you and Jowy make your blood pact at the beginning of the game, becoming “brothers,” makes your eventual opposition all the more heartbreaking. I remember reaching the final confrontation with Jowy and actually hesitating to fight him, not because I was underleveled, but because emotionally, I wasn’t ready to face what the game was asking of me.
The series’ Suikoden generational storytelling continuity adds another layer of depth rarely seen in RPGs. Characters who were protagonists in earlier games appear as older mentors or supporting characters in later entries. Regions that were prosperous in one game might be war-torn in the next. Political actions taken in Suikoden IV (chronologically the earliest) have ripple effects visible in Suikoden V (set nearly a century later). This creates a sense of a living world with actual history, where events have consequences beyond a single game’s narrative.
I’ll never forget recruiting Georg Prime in Suikoden V, having known him as a younger man in previous entries, and piecing together how his character had evolved over decades of in-game history. Or realizing that the Sindar ruins I was exploring had connections to lore established three games earlier. This continuity rewards dedicated players without alienating newcomers—each game stands alone, but together they create a tapestry of interconnected stories spanning generations.
Nowhere is the series’ brilliance more evident than in Suikoden II, widely considered the franchise’s masterpiece. The Suikoden II best JRPG hidden gem designation is well-earned, though “hidden” feels almost offensive given its quality. The game suffered from a limited production run in North America, making physical copies notorious rare and expensive (I once saw a complete copy selling for over $300 at a convention, and this was years ago). This scarcity contributed to its cult status but limited its influence on the broader gaming culture.
What makes Suikoden II special? Everything. The tale of two best friends divided by war and ideology. The shocking massacre at Muse that shifts the game’s tone from adventure to tragedy. The haunting score that still occasionally gets stuck in my head decades later. The perfect balance of personal storytelling and grand political drama. But most of all, it’s the characters—not just your core party, but all 108 Stars of Destiny, each with their own motivations for joining your cause.
I spent an entire weekend trying to recruit Simone Verdricci, the pretentious artist who demands you find him the perfect vista for his painting. My roommate watched in bewilderment as I methodically took this character to every single location in the game, looking for the one spot that would satisfy him. When I finally found it—a cliff overlooking the lake—Simone’s excited reaction felt like a genuine breakthrough in a real relationship. That’s the magic of Suikoden: it makes you care about even the most minor characters in your army.
The oft-discussed Suikoden versus Final Fantasy comparison reveals different philosophical approaches to the JRPG. Where Final Fantasy reinvents itself with each entry—new world, new characters, new systems—Suikoden built a consistent universe with interconnected stories and recurring elements. Where Final Fantasy increasingly embraced cinematic presentation and linear storytelling, Suikoden maintained focus on player agency and non-linear recruitment. Neither approach is inherently superior, but Suikoden’s path less traveled deserves recognition for the unique experiences it created.
I actually had a heated debate about this with a fellow RPG enthusiast at a local gaming store around 2002. He insisted Final Fantasy was superior because of its production values and emotional storytelling. “Name one moment in Suikoden as powerful as Aerith’s death,” he challenged. “Nanami,” I replied without hesitation. Those who know, know. We nearly came to blows before the store manager asked us to take our “weird Japanese game argument” outside. Looking back, it’s embarrassing but also revealing of how passionately Suikoden fans defend the series.
The tragic abandonment of the series by Konami marks one of gaming’s most disappointing publisher decisions. After Suikoden V in 2006, the series effectively ended, with only mobile spin-offs and pachinko machines carrying the name forward. Konami’s shift away from traditional game development left the series in limbo—the overarching story incomplete, the promised 27 True Runes only partially explored. For years, I held out hope for a Suikoden VI announcement that never came. I checked gaming news sites daily, followed obscure Japanese gaming forums through Google Translate, and even briefly considered learning Japanese just to better follow any potential news about the series’ revival.
There’s a bittersweet irony in how the series’ themes of political conflict and power struggles were reflected in its real-world fate, as corporate decisions at Konami shifted resources away from traditional game development toward more immediately profitable ventures. The company holding the True Rune of Suikoden chose to seal it away, leaving fans to maintain its legacy through forum discussions, fan art, and occasionally prohibitively expensive collector’s purchases.
Hope emerged recently with the announcement of the Suikoden spiritual successor Eiyuden Chronicle, a project led by series creator Yoshitaka Murayama. The Kickstarter campaign’s explosive success—reaching its initial funding goal within hours—demonstrated the enduring passion of the Suikoden community. I contributed to the campaign within minutes of discovering it, not even bothering to read the reward tiers. The chance to experience something capturing Suikoden’s spirit, even under a different name, was enough.
My personal Suikoden collection has become something of a shrine over the years. Complete copies of all five mainline games (tracking down Suikoden II cost me a month’s food budget in 2005), strategy guides, soundtrack CDs, even a few pieces of hard-to-find merchandise imported from Japan. My wife refers to it as my “retirement fund,” only half-jokingly given the current value of complete Suikoden II copies. But I could never sell them—these artifacts represent too many hours of my life, too many emotional connections to characters and stories.
The legacy of Suikoden lives on in unexpected ways. Elements of its recruitment and base-building systems can be seen in modern RPGs like Pillars of Eternity and Pathfinder: Kingmaker. Fire Emblem: Three Houses echoes its approach to political storytelling and character recruitment. Various indie RPGs cite Suikoden as a primary influence. But nothing has truly captured the specific alchemy that made the series special—the perfect balance of personal and political storytelling, the satisfaction of building your army one character at a time, watching your headquarters evolve from abandoned ruin to thriving community.
If you’ve never experienced Suikoden, particularly Suikoden II, I envy you the journey ahead. Digital re-releases have finally made these games more accessible than they were during the years when physical copies were the only option. Be prepared to take notes (yes, actual notes), to occasionally consult guides when you inevitably miss recruitment windows, and to invest emotionally in dozens of characters who might only join your battle party briefly but will become permanent residents in your gaming memory.
What Suikoden deserves isn’t just recognition as a “good RPG series” or even a “cult classic”—it deserves acknowledgment as one of the most ambitious and emotionally resonant approaches to interactive storytelling ever attempted. In its 108 Stars of Destiny, it recognized that revolutions and conflicts aren’t made by individual heroes alone, but by communities of people with diverse skills, backgrounds, and motivations coming together for a common cause. By making you personally responsible for building that community, it created an investment in its world unlike anything else in gaming.
That used game store clerk from 1998 probably never knew what he started with his casual recommendation. But somewhere out there, I hope he knows that the scratched disc he sold to a broke college student helped create a lifelong devotion to a series that, despite its relative obscurity, stands among the greatest achievements in RPG history. For that random act of video game evangelism, I remain grateful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an incredibly detailed character spreadsheet to update before Eiyuden Chronicle releases.
