I remember the first time I launched The First Berserker, feeling that familiar mix of excitement and dread that comes with any game clearly inspired by Sekiro's punishing combat system. The screen lit up with rain-slicked cobblestones and hulking warriors already closing in, and I realized this wasn't going to be one of those games where you simply mash buttons until enemies fall over. What struck me immediately was how the game makes defense feel as powerful as offense—something I'd argue many action games get wrong. Most games treat blocking as this passive, defensive move, but here it's woven right into your aggressive playstyle.

Let me walk you through what makes the combat click, because understanding this completely changed how I approached encounters. When you're facing standard enemies, you can usually get away with alternating between light and heavy attacks. Each successful hit chips away at both health and stamina bars—I'd estimate about 15-20% of their stamina per heavy attack based on my experience. But when you encounter the game's more formidable foes, the ones that really make you sit up straight, that's when the real dance begins. These enemies don't wait their turn; they come at you with combos that feel relentless, almost personal. I faced one particular armored knight in the third area who would chain together five or six attacks without pause, his greatsword whistling through the air as I desperately tried to remember the rhythm of his assaults.

This is where the Brink Guard system becomes your best friend. The first time I successfully executed one, it felt like time briefly stopped—this brilliant flash of blue energy, the satisfying clang of metal meeting impossible defense, and watching the enemy actually stagger back as their own stamina took a significant hit. What's brilliant about this mechanic is its generosity compared to dodging. The dodge window feels incredibly tight—maybe just 8-10 frames if I had to guess—meaning if you're even slightly off, you're guaranteed to eat damage. But with Brink Guard, if you press the block button too early, you still block the attack, just at the cost of a big chunk of your stamina. I'd say an early block costs about 40% of your stamina bar versus the perfect Brink Guard which costs nothing. This design choice completely shifts your mentality from "I hope I don't get hit" to "I'm going to master this encounter."

The comparison to Sekiro isn't just superficial—it's in how the game trains you to stand your ground rather than constantly retreat. I used to be that player who'd dodge roll away from everything, creating distance whenever things got tense. The First Berserker punished that habit mercilessly. Enemies here are aggressive in a way that feels almost intelligent; they press their advantage when you're backing away, closing distance with alarming speed. I remember one fight against twin blade masters who would coordinate their attacks, leaving me no safe space to retreat to. That encounter forced me to finally embrace the Brink Guard system properly, and the moment it clicked felt like unlocking a secret level of gameplay.

What surprised me most was how defense became my primary offense against tougher opponents. Against standard enemies, you can get away with being aggressive—maybe 70% attacking to 30% defending in my experience. But against the game's real challenges, those ratios flip completely. I found myself spending 80% of my time studying patterns and waiting for Brink Guard opportunities, with only brief windows to counterattack. The stance break system rewards this patience beautifully—after successfully executing 3-4 perfect Brink Guards against a major enemy, their stance would break, leaving them completely vulnerable to a devastating critical hit that often eliminated 50% or more of their health bar in one go.

There's this incredible moment of transformation that happens around the 10-hour mark where you stop seeing enemy attacks as threats and start seeing them as opportunities. The sound design plays a huge role here—each perfect Brink Guard has this crystalline, resonant chime that's just deeply satisfying. I found myself actually enjoying encounters that had previously frustrated me, because I understood the language the game was speaking. It's not about reaction speed so much as rhythm and prediction—like learning the steps to a dangerous dance where your partner is trying to kill you.

The game does an excellent job of scaling this challenge too. Early enemies might have simple 2-3 attack combos that are relatively easy to read. But by the time you reach areas like the Sunken Cathedral, enemies are mixing up timings, feinting, and using combos that can extend to 7-8 attacks. I particularly remember one duel against a spear-wielding commander whose attack patterns included delayed thrusts that specifically punished players who panicked and button-mashed. Beating him required not just skill but genuine patience and observation—watching how he shifted his weight, the subtle tells before certain attacks, the way he'd sometimes pause unexpectedly to throw off my timing.

What I appreciate most about The First Berserker's approach is how it respects the player's intelligence. It doesn't give you an overpowered dodge that makes you invincible, nor does it make blocking completely safe. Every defensive option has clear costs and benefits, creating this elegant risk-reward balance that makes every encounter feel meaningful. I've probably died over 200 times throughout my playthrough, but rarely did those deaths feel unfair—they almost always taught me something about timing, observation, or pattern recognition. The game wants you to engage with its systems deeply rather than stumble through encounters, and that commitment to mechanical purity is what makes mastering it so incredibly satisfying.