Chapter 148: Perfect Control

The moment the game finished loading, Miyazaki realized something.

Castlevania was completely different from every previous GAMENOVA title. At the very least, artistically, it was a game that refused to compromise for hardware limitations.

The cartridge's built-in audio enhancement chip flawlessly reproduced complex composite waveforms that had no business existing in the 8-bit era.

Although Miyazaki had never received any formal musical education, his ears could clearly recognize the sound of a pipe organ.

The majestic, solemn timbre of that extraordinary keyboard instrument felt even more awe-inspiring than a full orchestra. That unmistakable sense of classical European religious grandeur shot straight from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

In an instant, goosebumps spread across his entire body, as it was an experience no video game had ever given him before.

8-bit music certainly had its own unique charm. The synthesized tones created from simple waveforms were crisp and rhythmic, making them a perfect match for the fast-paced gameplay of 8-bit games.

But in the face of Castlevania, none of that seemed to matter anymore.

Baroque counterpoint and grand symphonic arrangements blended together with a strange form of electronic rock, giving Miyazaki the bizarre sensation of listening to Bach play an electric guitar.

Yet somehow, it didn't sound out of place at all. Instead, it created something that had never existed before, a style that was simultaneously classical and punk, electronic yet deeply traditional.

Although the NovaBox's speakers couldn't fully reproduce the soundtrack and its fidelity was far from perfect, the emotions the composition sought to convey reached Miyazaki with absolute clarity.

"This music has such a strong religious atmosphere..."

He knew nothing about Bach or Vivaldi. To a kid barely in his teens, there was only one word to describe it, awesome.

For the first time in his life, he found himself utterly captivated before the game had even started. He had not even reached the title screen, yet he was already drawn in completely.

Without relying on a single line of text or any elaborate visuals, the music alone had already painted a picture in his mind: a dark, oppressive, hopeless world.

Static flickered across the television as a pale crimson sun hung high in the sky, only for a shadow to slowly creep in from the lower right, gradually swallowing it until it became a crescent: a solar eclipse.

And when the sun was completely consumed by darkness, the game's title finally appeared.

CASTLEVANIA

Beneath it, a smaller subtitle displayed the localized name: Castlevania.

It seemed to be a made-up word.

Miyazaki blinked a couple of times as he looked at the strangely familiar title. He loved reading western fantasy novels, so it took him almost no effort to figure out its meaning.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

It was clearly a combination of Castle and Vania.

Castle was a staple of fantasy stories, so obviously, it referred to a castle. That probably meant the game's setting would take place inside one.

The suffix Vania, however, was far more difficult to decipher; if it had any recognizable origin at all, it was most likely derived from Transylvania, the Romanian region long associated with gothic legends and vampires.

"Oh... I get it now. It's referring to Dracula's homeland."

Viewed that way, the title's theme became immediately obvious. This was a game centered around the European legend of vampires.

"Haha! I knew it!"

It perfectly matched Miyazaki's tastes. While Fire Emblem had been incredibly fun, its core themes weren't truly the kind of western fantasy he had always dreamed of. Now, Castlevania had finally fulfilled that wish.

As the game officially began, the world of Castlevania unfolded before him.

"Let's see... A is jump... B is attack..."

When he pressed the B button, the protagonist immediately swung a short dagger forward.

"The Start button opens the menu? Whoa... there's so much stuff..."

Unlike the clean gameplay interface, the menu was absolutely packed with information, as every inch of the screen was utilized.

Just from the status panel at the top, it was obvious this was an RPG.

HP, MP, along with the familiar four primary attributes: Strength, Constitution, Intelligence, and Luck. A textbook role-playing template.

As for the rest of the interface, after becoming familiar with Fire Emblem, none of it was difficult to understand. Enemy encyclopedia, equipment screen, inventory, the usual RPG features.

The only thing that caught Miyazaki's attention was the Soul system. During the opening sequence, after defeating a flying skeleton, the protagonist had obtained a glowing red orb.

Now that orb occupied the red slot in the Soul menu. Besides the red slot, there were also one blue slot and one yellow slot.

According to the description, one granted a passive ability that remained active while equipped, while the other contained an ability that had to be activated manually with a specific button.

"So... I obtain these souls by defeating enemies?"

Miyazaki felt he had figured out the system. That brief opening sequence had apparently been teaching players how to collect souls.

"Whatever... I'll just explore and see."

The menu contained a huge amount of information, but most of it was still vague, almost cryptic, so he simply closed it and charged deeper into the castle.

"Hm? This..."

The moment he encountered the very first group of enemies, Miyazaki sensed that something was different.

The controls felt incredible. Not because of the game's mechanics, nor because mowing down enemies was inherently satisfying, but because of something deeper: a sense of satisfaction that came directly from the controls themselves, a feeling of feedback that made every movement feel meaningful.

When he had played Fire Emblem, a turn-based strategy game, he had never experienced anything remotely like this.

It felt as though he had become the protagonist himself, with every input receiving an immediate and precise response.

The moment he pressed the jump button, the character leaped; if he released it midway, the ascent immediately stopped, and the longer he held it, the higher the character jumped.

He remembered Nintendo's Super Mario having something similar. But the feeling was completely different.

"That's strange... why does this feel so different?"

Still unconvinced, Miyazaki made the character jump around the stage several more times.

"Hmm..."

He stared intently at the character's movement through the air and the moment he landed. Then his eyes lit up.

"I've got it!"

"It's because of the precision!"

If he had to summarize the control system in a single word, it would be precision.

Unlike Super Mario, where Mario's movement could feel slippery, with momentum carrying him into unintended slides, this game offered a level of control that felt almost perfectly precise.

The game responded faithfully to every single input from the player. Stop meant stop, and move meant move, nothing more and nothing less.

Its level of control was so exact that it felt even more demanding than a fighting game.

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