The Royal Writ is the kind of strategy game that initially looks considerably more approachable than it actually is. Developed by Save Sloth Studios and published by Yogscast Games, this roguelike deckbuilder combines cute medieval animals, a picture-book presentation and a deliberately absurd sense of humor with a surprisingly demanding tactical system. On the PlayStation 5, the basic idea is easy enough to understand: deploy animal soldiers across a battlefield, manipulate their strength with cards and modifiers, and march them toward the opposing side. The real challenge lies in understanding how all those systems interact, especially when losing a card can have permanent consequences. The result is an unusual take on deckbuilding that can be rewarding once its rules begin to make sense, but getting to that point requires considerably more patience than the charming presentation initially suggests.
The premise provides a suitably eccentric backdrop for the mechanics. The first campaign revolves around King Mikolt II and his attempts to deal with a growing rebellion, while the second introduces a new threat in the form of experimental firearms. There is a light narrative running through both campaigns, with various rulers, rebels, council members and wonderfully strange animal characters giving the world some personality. The story never becomes the main attraction, nor does it need to, but the contrast between the cheerful presentation and the willingness to sacrifice animals for tactical advantages gives the game a distinctive personality. The writing and situations are more concerned with amusement and flavor than developing a particularly deep political narrative, so anyone looking for a substantial story may find it somewhat thin. As a framework for repeated tactical runs, however, it does the job well enough.
The real strength of The Royal Writ is its battlefield-based interpretation of deckbuilding. Cards are not simply played to produce an immediate effect and then discarded; instead, units are placed into lanes and gradually advance across columns with different modifiers. Some units contribute fixed amounts of damage while others multiply the strength of what comes before them, meaning that positioning can be just as important as the cards being selected. Terrain adds another layer to the puzzle, with hazards capable of disrupting or disabling units while advantageous spaces can improve their effectiveness. Relics, upgrades, equipment and card effects then provide additional opportunities to build combinations. When everything comes together, the numbers can escalate dramatically, and constructing an army capable of producing enormous damage is one of the game’s most satisfying accomplishments.
That satisfaction is closely tied to one of the game’s most interesting ideas: soldiers are disposable, but not necessarily replaceable. A unit that dies during a run is permanently removed from that deck, while injuries and other conditions can continue to affect cards between battles. This turns every deployment into a risk-reward decision. It can be tempting to throw everything onto the battlefield to maximize damage, but doing so carelessly can leave a run without enough useful soldiers to continue. The system creates a nice tension that distinguishes The Royal Writ from deckbuilders where the main objective is simply to assemble an increasingly powerful collection of cards. Here, adapting to losses is part of the strategy, and sacrificing units can sometimes be just as important as protecting them.
Unfortunately, the game is not always particularly good at teaching players how to make those decisions. The tutorial and early explanations leave too many of the important interactions for the player to discover independently, which is especially problematic because The Royal Writ does not follow the conventional rules of more familiar roguelike deckbuilders. The systems involving positioning, additive and multiplicative bonuses, terrain, unit effects and card preservation can take considerable experimentation to understand, and the early experience can therefore feel more confusing than challenging. Once the underlying systems begin to click, however, the same complexity becomes one of its greatest strengths.
The second campaign pushes that complexity even further. Rather than simply offering more of the first campaign, it introduces different cards and a projectile-based threat that forces players to think about incoming attacks as well as their own formations. Units can be moved to avoid projectiles, but doing so can expose the king to damage instead, creating another uncomfortable choice between protecting the army and protecting the player character. It is a significant change of pace that makes the latter portion of the game considerably more demanding. The added challenge will appeal to players who have mastered the first campaign, although the jump in difficulty can feel harsh rather than naturally progressive.
There are also moments when the difficulty crosses from demanding into frustrating. Random events, bosses and unexpected status effects can sometimes destroy a promising run before there is much opportunity to respond, and that is considerably more painful in a game where cards can be lost permanently. A difficult run ending because a strategy was poorly constructed is one thing; losing because an unexpected effect invalidates a carefully assembled deck can feel considerably less satisfying. At the same time, the game does provide reasons to keep trying. New units and relics can be unlocked through continued play, while additional challenges and harder modifiers provide further goals after successful runs. The structure therefore encourages experimentation, although the journey toward understanding its systems can be more laborious than it needs to be.
Visually, The Royal Writ makes an excellent first impression by leaning into a deliberately simple medieval storybook aesthetic. The animal soldiers are expressive and memorable, while the battlefield remains clean enough that the many modifiers, effects and status conditions can be read without the presentation becoming cluttered. Small animations give the cards considerably more personality than static illustrations would, particularly when units are injured, sacrificed or otherwise affected by what happens during a battle. It is not a technically spectacular game, but that is hardly the point. The restrained visual style serves the strategy particularly well, although players expecting elaborate environments or cutting-edge presentation may find it somewhat basic.
The audio follows much the same philosophy. Rather than overwhelming the tactical action, the music provides a suitably medieval atmosphere while the sound effects give useful feedback when cards are played, units move and attacks are resolved. The relatively understated approach suits the repeated nature of the roguelike structure, where excessively loud or repetitive audio could quickly become irritating during longer sessions. The presentation ultimately works because the visual and audio design understand their role: they add charm and atmosphere without competing with the information the player needs to process.
The Royal Writ is therefore an intriguing strategy game that succeeds largely because it refuses to behave like a conventional deckbuilder. Its battlefield positioning, permanent card loss, unusual combinations of addition and multiplication, terrain effects and two substantially different campaigns give it a strong identity, while the charming presentation makes the brutality of its mechanics oddly entertaining. The biggest obstacle is also the most obvious one: the game does not explain itself well enough, and the early learning curve can make the experience feel unnecessarily opaque. There are also situations where the difficulty and randomness can undermine the satisfaction of a run. Still, once its systems start to click, The Royal Writ offers the kind of strategic depth that rewards experimentation and careful planning. It may ask players to work harder than necessary to understand its rules, but those willing to make the effort will find a distinctive and often surprisingly satisfying roguelike deckbuilder.
Score: 7.2/10