Overview

The overview was generated by GPT, and then I proofread it. You might consider starting directly from the next section.

This article aims to analyze the issues in the narrative presentation of Assassin’s Creed 3, such as abrupt plot twists, shallow character development, and imbalanced pacing. By conducting an in-depth examination of four pivotal scenes — which reflect challenges seen throughout the game — this article explores how enhancing plot setup, character development, and narrative rhythm can improve the player’s sense of immersion and emotional resonance.

1. Haytham’s Identity Reversal: Analyzing the Strategy and Tradeoffs of Narrative Reversal

   • Problem to Solve: How can a narrative shock be crafted without leaving players confused or fostering negative emotions from insufficient information?
   • Current Situation/Case: The game’s prologue hints heavily at Haytham’s “assassin” identity, but when his Templar affiliation is revealed, there isn’t enough buildup; as a result, players find it hard to accept the character’s transformation, which in turn affects their overall perception of the game’s plot.
   • Directions for Improvement:
     1. Add hints in internal dialogues among Haytham’s team regarding concepts such as order and authority, thus providing a contrast to the free will central to the Creed.
     2. Remove overly obvious assassin markers so as not to mislead the player, while still maintaining an element of suspense.
     3. Trim some of the cutscenes and incorporate interactive elements (for example, allowing players to manually put a ring on Charles) to enhance the sense of involvement.
   • Conclusion: With appropriate buildup and guidance, players can more naturally accept narrative reversals and be further motivated to explore subsequent plot developments.

2. The Conflict Between Connor and Washington: Dissecting the Challenge of Shaping Character Arcs

   • Problem to Solve: How can a limited game structure be used to portray the inner turmoil that characters experience under the clash between idealism and reality, while avoiding sudden or unmotivated behaviors?
   • Current Situation/Case: In the game, Connor’s reaction to Washington’s orders to massacre Native Americans comes off as excessively emotional and abrupt. Many players struggle to understand the logic behind Connor’s behavior and his emotional shift.
   • Directions for Improvement:
     1. Incorporate detailed descriptions (similar to nuanced expressions in a novel) showing Washington’s guilt over the massacre orders, to render his character more rounded.
     2. Recreate the dialogue from the novel where Connor expresses mixed feelings and skepticism to his father, highlighting his internal conflict and wariness of the Templars.
     3. Use additional cutscenes or dialogue choices to portray Connor’s struggle amidst betrayal and deception, as well as the gradual disillusionment with the image of the “ideal leader.”
   • Conclusion: By enriching the details and delving into the characters’ inner lives, their reactions in complex situations become more convincing, thereby increasing player empathy.

3. The Showdown Between Connor and Haytham: Analyzing the Differences Between Game and Novel Narratives

   • Problem to Solve: How can we analyze the differences between game narrative and novel narrative approaches, and balance the intensity of combat with the expression of complex familial emotions, so that characters do not simply become “tools” of the plot?
   • Current Situation/Case: The in-game showdown places too much emphasis on the combat itself, neglecting to showcase Haytham’s hesitations, Connor’s anguish, or any opportunity for reconciliation between father and son. As a result, many players find it hard to accept Connor’s act of “filicide.”
   • Directions for Improvement:
     1. Insert additional dialogue scenes or cutscenes during the battle intervals to showcase the internal struggles and emotional exchanges between the two characters.
     2. Provide supplementary lore—through collectible files, flashback sequences, or side missions—that deepens the player’s understanding of Haytham’s past, thereby amplifying the emotional impact of the final confrontation.
   • Conclusion: While combat is a crucial narrative tool in a game, it should be interwoven with character development and the expression of emotions so as not to sacrifice narrative depth for the sake of action.

4. Achilles’ Death and the Homestead Missions: Exploring the Design of Open-World Side Quests

   • Problem to Solve: How can the design of side quests and open-world gameplay be used not only to drive the main storyline but also to craft complete character arcs through emotional resonance?
   • Current Situation/Case: The homestead missions, through long-term engagement and gradual buildup, depict Connor’s growth and sense of responsibility following his mentor’s death, alongside the warmth and unity of the community. This contrasts with the starkness of the main plot, and offers players an outlet for emotional release.
   • Main Highlights (this paragraph serves as a positive case study, with improvement directions being implicit):
     1. By linking the main storyline with the side missions, players are given a clear purpose in building the homestead, which in turn fosters a stronger sense of belonging.
     2. In these homestead management tasks, providing residents with unique backgrounds and stories allows players to invest more emotionally while engaging in a “simulated construction” experience.
   • Conclusion: Well-designed open-world side quests can complement the main narrative, providing players with richer emotional experiences and stronger character identification. Community building and character interactions help create more multidimensional characters and enhance the overall narrative depth of the game.

“Now, you are a Templar.”

From “Master Assassin” to Templar Leader

“The atmosphere of the Anglo-French-North American war did not diminish the hustle and bustle of ‘Boston,’ and no one cared that an officer named ‘Edward Braddock’ had been assassinated. The streets still flowed with people and bustling traffic. Among the crowd stood a young man with a noble bearing—agile in figure, sharp in gaze, and appearing carefree.

‘Haytham Kenway’—the protagonist that the player assumes during the early stages of the game—is also a mysterious leader in North America and has some connections to the historical figure, Benjamin Franklin. The player accompanies him from England to North America, watching him cross the sea, recruit soldiers, execute slave traders, rescue Native Americans, and assassinate commanders intent on expanding the war and massacring indigenous peoples. Not only does he possess a calm and collected demeanor with a seasoned, steady approach to affairs, he also wields an encyclopedic knowledge and never harms the innocent. This is Desmond’s ancestor, the Assassin. As he scales to the top of Boston’s clock tower and peers into the horizon before leaping down, the silhouette of a ‘Master Assassin’ flashes before the player’s eyes.

At this moment, the player controls this protagonist and enters the ‘Green Dragon Tavern’—which bears a mission prompt up ahead.

Greeting him is the devoted Charles Lee. This gentleman is competent and passionately committed to the organization’s goals. Though he may seem to be still maturing, he is modest and respectful in front of the protagonist and grows quickly. Charles welcomes the protagonist into what appears to be a pre-arranged gathering.

Haytham announces that he has found the temple, though he has not yet located its key. He intends to establish a permanent base in North America—and surely the key will be found. With unanimous approval from those present, he proposes to induct the loyal and capable Charles Lee into the organization and holds a ceremonial induction right then and there. After Charles solemnly swears his oath, Haytham signals him to extend his hand. Raising his own right hand—his forearm wrapped in the sleeve-sword that symbolizes the Assassin and adorned with the Assassin Brotherhood’s emblem—Haytham presents Charles with a ring, then speaks the fateful words:

‘You, are a templar.’

In unison everyone shouts, ‘May the Father of Understanding guide us.’

Suddenly, the screen turns gray and Desmond’s puzzled voice cuts in: ‘Wait. What? ’

At that moment, I too was baffled. Haytham’s forearm was unmistakably emblazoned with the Assassin’s insignia—so why, then, are these people Templars? When the game begins, it establishes that the Assassin Brotherhood and the Templars are mortal enemies and presumes the Assassins to be the protagonists and the Templars the villains. Then why are they executing slave traders and rescuing Native Americans? It seems the author intends for us to question the strict moral dichotomy between Assassins and Templars.

Reversals in Narrative Strategy—Gains and Losses

Desmond’s “Wait. What?” coupled with the screen’s graying out and the chapter-completion UI prompt, swiftly pulls the player’s experience out of the narrative and back to reality. The narrative hints and reversals shock and baffle the player. Here we can see that the author wants the player to begin questioning whether the roles of Assassin and Templar really are cut-and-dried good and evil; thus, the prologue always hints that Haytham’s group might indeed be the Assassin Brotherhood. In the Native rescue mission there is even a segment where the player merely watches as teammates stealthily assassinate British guards along the way—each teammate’s head even bearing the Assassin UI emblem.

This method indeed creates dramatic tension and sets up a narrative hook; only such a shock can propel the player into questioning whether the Assassins and Templars truly represent absolute justice and evil. However, this plot twist happens in an instant—nearly without warning—and the dramatic shift the author expects players to ponder is a grand and profound proposition. Can such a massive, deep intellectual question be properly served by an instantaneous narrative explosion?

Observing social media comments, it appears that players can be roughly divided into tiers: only series veterans familiar with the plot might respond in that reflective manner; those less versed or a few new players, after the initial shock and confusion, would develop an urge to continue exploring—yet many players end up feeling utterly lost. The majority, however, fall into the third category: they cannot complete the mental shift the author expected and, instead, find it hard to accept that “the righteous Haytham is actually a head Templar,” even if some later learn through social media communications about the author’s intended message. Their overall impression of the game’s narrative declines.

Could it be improved?

One reason why line infantry must form a formation is that the accuracy of the flintlock is limited. Even after improvements to the firing mechanism and lengthening the barrel, the bullet could only be guaranteed not to stray beyond a few dozen meters. Later on, rifling (the spiral grooves inside the barrel) was introduced so that the bullet, guided by these grooves, spin-stabilizes in the barrel and can accurately hit the target the soldier aimed at.

Similarly, intense conflict and twists in narrative require proper setup and foreshadowing. Clearly, the author did leave some hints—players can choose to speak with a few of Haytham’s underlings. It is then that one may discover that “Thomas Hickey” is actually a bandit, and “Benjamin Church” is a vampire doctor. But these optional dialogues are not enough; after all, the Master Assassin could just as easily be a pirate. Perhaps the internal dialogues within Haytham’s team could include more ideas about order, centralization, and authority, allowing the player to notice the differences between these values and the Assassins’ creed of free will. Or perhaps the blatant Assassin insignia in the UI and character renders could be toned down so as not to overly mislead the player, thus preserving more mystery. This way, the foreshadowing would be more evident, giving more players time to prepare psychologically and temper their expectations, without diminishing the shock of the narrative twist. If players had already harbored some doubts, then when the shock comes, more of them would be ready to react and be interested in how the plot evolves further. As game designers, perhaps our job should be to help the player understand the narrative—not to test them.

Additionally:

1. Some of the prologue’s cutscenes might be too long, possibly reducing the player’s sense of immersion and making it feel like watching a movie. In such instances, interactive elements could be inserted. For example, prompting the player to press a button to put the ring on Charles’ finger might make him feel as if he himself is recruiting a capable ally for the Templar Order. Of course, the prologue already has some successful examples of this kind—such as allowing the player to control Charles’s horseback riding while overhearing their conversation.

2. I don’t understand why Charles’ portrayal in the first three chapters feels so different from his later portrayal without any hints, foreshadowing, or buildup. By Chapter Four, Charles simply begins bullying Native American children.

“Private Letters!”

The Other Side of the ‘Lone Hero’

At night, at the American encampment in Fort Fogg Valley.

The camp lights illuminated the thin fog; the damp climate did little to comfort, as if a battle were imminent. Connor relayed intelligence to the Continental Army’s commander-in-chief, George Washington. Meanwhile, Haytham noticed the military orders on Washington’s desk. He then ordered his men to go massacre Native Americans and burn their villages.

Watching Washington shout about freedom while having Connor—a Native himself—serve him, yet simultaneously ordering the burning, slaughter, and looting of Native communities, Haytham grabbed the letter and questioned Washington: ‘What is this?’

‘Private letter!’ Washington retorted, not wanting Connor to see the military order, and tried to wrest it from Haytham’s hand.

Dodging Washington’s attempt, Haytham kept the document. With this military order in hand, it was time to explain the facts to his son. Years ago, it was not his Templar Order that burned his home and killed his mother, but Washington himself. Unhurriedly pacing, he said, ‘I’m sure this is a private letter. Do you want to know what it says, Connor? It seems that your dear friend just ordered an attack on your village. Though ‘attack’ may be too mild a term—tell him, Commander.’

Washington replied, ‘We received reports that allied Native Americans are helping the British. I ordered my men to stop them.’

‘According to this order, you intend to stop them by torching their village and destroying their land—by wiping them out completely.’ Haytham grew visibly emotional. ‘And this isn’t the first time. Tell him what you did eighteen years ago.’

‘Back then, things were different… that was during the Seven Years’ War.’

‘Now look at what this “great man” has become under duress. He’s making excuses, diverting attention—he’s done many things but won’t admit them.’

Enraged, Washington exploded in anger while Haytham also engaged him fervently.

‘Enough!’ Connor roared, heavy breathing. ‘Who did it, and why? We can talk about that later. Right now, my people come first.’

‘Then let’s go,’ Haytham offered, expressing his willingness to help Connor defend his homeland.

‘No! That’s enough—you don’t come with me.’

Haytham was stunned: ‘My son…’

Connor suddenly exploded at Haytham, ‘Do you think I’m so weak that one word—‘son’—from you will change my mind? How long have you known this news? Or should I believe you’ve only just discovered it? My mother’s blood may have been spilled by others, but Charles Lee is no less a monster, and everything he has done is because of your orders.’

He then turned toward Washington, who backed away in fear. Suddenly, Washington trembled—he was afraid of Connor’s fury.

‘I warn you both,’ Connor roared, ‘if any of you follow me or get in my way, I will slaughter you!’

From the Boston Tea Party to the Battle of Bunker Hill, the player, controlling Connor, racked up feats and witnessed the birth of the Continental Army and a turning point in history. Connor’s willingness to risk life and limb to assassinate enemy generals amid a hail of bullets was driven not only by factional feuds but also by his profound belief that only with the victory of the War of Independence could freedom and justice be realized—and only then would his homeland and people be saved. A key to supporting the War of Independence lay in backing and protecting Washington, for only that perfect leader could guide the Continental Army to victory.

But now, as Washington fraternizes with him even while ordering the burning of Native American villages, from his father’s accusations and his own behavior it appears that the very man who thirteen years ago was Connor’s mortal enemy might be this Washington. Is it true? Could it be that the seemingly perfect leader before him has no more difference from those “patriot” stooges he once encountered? In the author’s script at this moment, Connor cannot bring himself to believe it. He wants to trust his father, yet he is filled with doubts about what the Templars are doing. At the very least, he refuses to face the shock of betrayal and deception, and so he leaves temporarily.

The Challenge of Shaping Character Arcs

This moment is both brilliant and true-to-life, laden with complex emotions as well as Connor’s inner turmoil, evolving worldview, values, and personal will. However, without sufficient buildup, a dramatic scene alone leaves little room for players to grasp these layers. Many players, upon seeing Connor’s anger and departure, felt the abruptness and confusion; and soon after, when players had to control Connor to stop his people from being exploited by Charles Lee—forcing him to kill a childhood friend—the situation grew even more perplexing and hard to accept.

When I first played this game, I simply did not understand what the author was trying to express. I even believed at the time that “Connor was seduced by Haytham; he misunderstood the righteous Washington, and because he remained loyal to the Continental Army and patriots, he had no choice but to kill his childhood friend who supported the British.” In hindsight, that thought now seems laughable—but it did reveal how underpowered the game’s narrative expression was.

Regarding that moment, the official novel describes it as follows:

(When Haytham questions Washington’s massacre order)

“For a moment the cabin fell silent, the atmosphere tense. Outside, there were clatters from the kitchen, the soft sounds of carriages coming and going in the camp, the loud, sharp shouts of the instructors, and the rhythmic steps of marching boots. Inside, Washington looked at Connor, his face bright red; perhaps the associations of events from so many years ago were creeping into his mind, and he recognized what he had once done. His mouth opened and closed as if he could not find the right words.

(When Haytham confronts Washington about the massacre eighteen years ago)

“Washington’s face turned ashen. He lowered his eyes and stared at the floor, his guilt evident for all to see.”

In Chapter 9 of the game, Haytham once tried to explain to Connor. The official novel recounts:

“She’s dead,” he said. “Murdered.”

Killed by Washington, I thought, though I said nothing; I only replied, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Really? It was done by your men.”

By now I had pried open the door, but I didn’t go in—rather, I closed it again—and turned to face Connor. “What?”

“I was just a child when they came for the elder. Even then, I knew they were dangerous, so I told them nothing. Because of that, Charles Lee knocked me unconscious.”

So I guessed correctly. Charles indeed branded Connor with his temple ring—even stamped it into his very heart.

Even as he continued speaking, I feigned shock; at that moment, putting on a look of horror wasn’t hard for me.

“When I came to, my village was in flames. By then, your men had vanished, along with any hope of my mother’s survival.”

Now—now was a chance to try to convince him of the truth.

“That’s impossible,” I said. “I never gave such an order. In fact, quite the opposite—I told them to abandon the search for the Predecessors’ relics. We were about to focus our energies on more practical pursuits…”

Connor looked half-convinced and half-doubtful, but he just shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. So much time has passed.”

Oh, but this—this really does matter.

“But you’ve always believed, since you were a child, that this atrocity was my doing—your own father’s responsibility. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right. Or maybe not. How would I know?”

However, none of these aspects are reflected in the game. In the game, there isn’t the slightest hint of guilt on Washington’s face, which may align with his historical image as a ruthless, decisive leader—a slave owner and colonialist. Yet this portrayal can lead players who lack sufficient background knowledge to potentially misinterpret the basic facts. In the novel, a scene is included in which Washington feels guilt; if it could be incorporated into the game, it would enrich the character and allow players to more easily see that “freedom is merely a slogan, and even the flawless leader Washington had a side that engaged in the massacre of Native Americans.”

Similarly, in the game, Connor shows no sign of doubt. When he heard his father claim that he had never given such an order, he immediately responded with, “The past cannot be changed, nor will I forgive,” and then moved on to the next scene. I can’t find a plausible explanation for this handling of the plot. In contrast, the novel includes a follow-up dialogue that captures Connor’s lingering skepticism; if it could be incorporated into the game, it would reveal that Connor is inclined to believe his father, yet the lingering impact of Charles Lee’s bullying has left him wary of the Templars, so he remains only half-convinced by his father’s explanation. If players grasped this inner journey, it would lay the groundwork for understanding why, after deciding to break with Washington, Connor still harbored doubts about his father—and why, driven by the shock of betrayal and deceit, he would erupt in anger towards a father whom he both wishes to believe and finds it hard to trust.

The potential solution is already present in the novel; the author simply needs more time to refine it further—to more fully portray Connor’s internal struggle amidst deception and betrayal, to shape his character arc from a naive young admirer of a great leader and the ideal of freedom into an individual who, despite having weathered many storms, steadfastly clings to his beliefs. Unfortunately, there isn’t any more time, and consumers can only see the final product of your work.

“I Won’t Cry… I Believe You Understand”

The Tragedy of Kin-Slaughter

A shell fell and knocked Connor down, and both he and Desmond—who was connected to the Animus—emitted agonized screams. The Continental soldiers had already stormed into West Gate at midnight, and he entered the crumbling fortress in search of Charles Lee. Yet what greeted him was his own father, Haytham. This grand master of the Templar Order was about to fight his own son in order to safeguard Charles Lee’s resurgence.

Under the designers’ arrangement, both Connor and Haytham are masters of refined combat; even when they seem like fire and water in opposition, it is extremely difficult for either to wound the other. Haytham can effortlessly parry Connor’s axe, and the player’s focused maneuvers are enough to defuse Haytham’s rapier attacks.
Unless the player leverages environmental factors to counterattack—for example, tossing a barrel at the opponent or pushing him against a wall—there is no way to damage him even slightly. That, in turn, makes the entire duel drawn out. At that point, the designers could have inserted a final exchange between the two—a final debate between father and son, between Templars and Assassins.

Haytham bellowed his arguments: The Templars can ensure that the new nation is orderly and equal. From the very beginning, we have refused to harm the indigenous people of Connor’s land and have striven to make it united and harmonious. Meanwhile, the patriots offer freedom—and that is dangerous, for the freedom of diverse individuals and of groups with uneven power inevitably clashes. He believed that the peace Connor pursued did not exist.

And even though Connor had experienced Washington’s betrayal, he now believed that once the Continental Army prevailed, freedom and power would belong to the people, realizing the Assassins’ ideals; the unity of the Continental Army attested to that. In the new nation, there would be no monarch, and the leadership of the Continental Army would not be seduced by power. Haytham, however, prophesied that once the Continental Army established the new nation, power struggles would ensue, leading to new wars. The people have never truly possessed power and will never desire it—they do not want to bear responsibility; they only wish to submit to and be governed by the strong.

Connor appeared to agree with part of Haytham’s conclusions but did not believe that the administrators should be Templars. Moreover, even if the world were this cruel, we should still strive for freedom; Haytham had sacrificed everything to become a Templar, and now he wanted to sacrifice himself as well.

At this stage, the final confrontation between them had entered its last phase; both were utterly exhausted.

“Surrender, and I’ll spare your life,” Connor said weakly.

“Even a man facing death can be so arrogant,” Haytham growled with his remaining strength as he tightened his grip around Connor’s throat.

“You’re no better yourself.”

“Even if you are assured victory, we will rise again. Do you know why? Because the Brotherhood is born of reality. We have no need for dogma, nor do we need to be taught by an old man. As long as the world remains as it is, the Brotherhood will exist—hence the Templars will never perish!”

Connor extended his hidden blade and pierced Haytham’s neck, thus winning the final duel.

“Don’t think I’ll caress your cheek and then say I was wrong. I won’t cry, nor will I be sentimental—I think you understand.”

“But I am still proud of you; you have shown extraordinary conviction, strength, and courage—those exalted qualities…”

With a derisive smile, Haytham uttered his final words, “I should have killed you long ago.” With that, the father—who could never bring himself to harm his child—died.

On Haytham’s body, Connor found no trace of the amulet his mother had once mentioned; he simply murmured in the language of his people, “Goodbye, Father,” and turned away.

If we consider only this ultimate confrontation in the game, the impression Connor leaves is that in the name of revenge and in order to defeat his archenemy—the Templars—he killed his father, who had repeatedly shown mercy towards him, and he didn’t even help his father close his eyes. Perhaps he is a competent, resolute Assassin, but he is undeniably cold and ruthless, which is hard for me to accept. And many social media comments express almost the same view. So, did the author really intend from the start to portray Connor in this manner?

刻鹄不成尚类鹜

• (Even if you fail to sculpt a swan, at least it still looks like a duck.)*

In the official novel, the same scene is imbued with many additional details that the author later refined:

(At the very beginning of the skirmish)

“We still have a chance,” I urged him, “if we join forces, we can break this cycle and end this ancient war. I know we can.”

I saw a change flicker in his eyes. Was it a spark of longing he had long abandoned, now rekindled? Or perhaps the memory of dreams never realized?

“I know we can,” I repeated.

He, biting on his bloodstained bandage, shook his head. Had he truly lost hope? Had his heart become as hard as stone?

Once he finished bandaging, he said, “No—it is you who hopes we can, you who hopes it can become reality.” His voice was laced with sorrow, “A part of me once believed the same, but it is an impossible dream.”

“We are bound by blood, you and I,” I pleaded, “I beg you…”

For a moment, I thought I had perhaps convinced him.

“No, my son. We are enemies. Either you die or I shall perish.”

Outside, another volley of cannon fire thundered. Torches trembled on their brackets, lights danced on stone walls, and specks of dust fell like raindrops.

That was that.

This passage shows that Connor is not the implacable avenger; on the contrary, he had always fantasized that he and his father, that Assassins and Templars, could join forces to support the independence war, to help the Continental Army he favored secure power for the people. Haytham, too, was once shaken—briefly nostalgic for his former convictions. Clearly, he had once harbored such dreams as well, though long since eroded by reality.

(During the final showdown)

“Ah,” he laughed, revealing his bloodstained teeth, “but I am not alone…”

I turned to see two fortress guards charging down the corridor, muskets raised, stopping at a distance just beyond our reach.

I shifted my gaze from them to my father. He had already risen, raising one hand to halt his subordinates—the very reason they had not killed me.

Of course, at that moment I wondered: would he really do that? Would he let them kill me? But I would never learn the answer. For, suddenly, several gunshots rang out, and two soldiers fell dead, eliminated by a sniper’s bullet from the other side of the wall. Immediately, I lunged forward; before he had time to react, I knocked Haytham onto a pile of stones, and once again stood before him, retracting my hand that wielded the hidden blade.

Then, driven by what might have been a desperate impulse, I realized I had let out a sob; I had already plunged my blade into his heart. As the hidden blade sank in, his body convulsed violently before relaxing; by the time I drew it back, he was smiling.

This section, along with the earlier part of the novel in which Haytham, in order to save Connor, undermined the critical organizational plans he had set in motion as grand master, shows that Haytham was not merely a Templar despot. The dynamics of the battle—including the involvement of supporting units on both sides—added layers of depth to their duel. Haytham even had a chance to have his subordinates shoot Connor, but hesitated, and that hesitation further highlighted the complex bond between father and son.

Their dialogue was no longer a simple clash of opposites; it also conveyed mutual sorrow and helplessness. In the novel, Haytham was driven into the Templar camp by a steward’s conspiracy. Watching Connor wear the Assassin robes that his own father, “Edward Kenway,” had once prepared for him, he felt that Connor embodied the very image of the young man he himself ought to have been. When Haytham finally died, he abandoned his usual tone of orders and derision to praise the exemplary qualities Connor had exhibited—and it was then that Connor was finally able to embrace his father tightly, leaving only after having closed his father’s eyes.

The game omits many of these details, resulting in the image of a “vengeful protagonist and a villainous, disposable boss.” In contrast, the novel fills in these details, presenting us with a father and son forced by fate to turn on each other. Both longed to transform the world, yet due to fundamental conflicts in ideology and allegiance, their confrontation and ensuing bloodshed ended only in tragedy. So, can we conclude that if the game were turned into a novel, everything would be all right?

The Trade-offs Between Game Narration and Novel Narration

Games and novels are different media, destined to have different narrative layers and methods of revealing inner psychology.
Games often need to rapidly push the story forward within the constraints of limited cutscenes and playable time, with designers pouring more energy into combat mechanics and level pacing. As a result, the portrayal of characters’ inner struggles and evolving relationships must be sacrificed to some extent. By contrast, novels can use extended prose, inner monologues, and detailed dialogues to complement emotional shifts, allowing readers to fully grasp complex characters.

Designers emphasize the moral conflict embodied in the battle, yet they lack sufficient pauses to display Haytham’s hesitation, Connor’s anguish, or the potential for reconciliation between father and son. The main reason is that the duel between Connor and Haytham is presented as a final boss battle. The high-intensity interaction and combat atmosphere convey a life-or-death struggle. Even though both combatants are martial arts experts who can almost perfectly parry each other’s moves—thereby prolonging the fight—the dialogues between them mostly consist of declarations of stance or brief verbal exchanges. There is seldom enough time to probe deeply into their emotional entanglements or inner psychologies. Thus, it is easy for the player to perceive that “in the clash between Assassins and Templars, Connor coldly killed his own father” without any inner conflict.

When the production team sets out to create a life-or-death showdown, they naturally emphasize tangible action tension, sacrificing some psychological depiction and emotional buildup. Conversely, in written form the author can devote ample space to construct the multifaceted nature of the conflict, making character motives and emotional transitions appear far more natural. Thus, in the subjective experience of players or readers, the absence of supplemental cutscene dialogue and internal monologues makes Connor’s patricide seem excessively decisive and devoid of inner struggle, and Haytham come across as merely a tool character who fades away after fulfilling his villainous role.

Admittedly, if I were to design this boss battle, I too would find it difficult to strike the right balance between the two, and would likely fare much worse than the original creators. It is simply that beyond the inherent pacing demands of interactive media, whether supplementary narrative techniques are included also depends on the designers’ choices.

Perhaps we might consider:

1. Since both sides have reached a stalemate in combat and the battle has been prolonged, could more dialogue scenes or cutscenes be inserted to let players feel the hesitation and concerns of both parties during combat pauses?
2. In the game, aside from advancing the main storyline, players also progress through side quests and even climb rooftops to collect fragments. Through collectible documents, memory fragments, or extra missions, players could have more opportunities to learn about Haytham’s past, thereby producing a richer emotional impact during the final battle.

I hesitate to draw any conclusions here myself; I only hope that in the future I encounter designers with thinking as fluid as a river and talent as deep as the ocean to guide me.

The Superfluous Chase Sequence

In the game’s narrative, after Haytham’s death Connor does not retrieve the temple’s amulet, so he must go through a series of levels to kill Charles Lee. Here I have a judgment: Charles Lee’s death after Haytham’s demise could have been depicted in a single cutscene. The series of chase levels is completely superfluous. Even if this game is a large-scale project and quite a bit of animation, level design, art, and sound had already been invested in this segment, the design should have pivoted immediately to save time and effort for refining other parts of the game.

Although these levels’ gameplay and challenges may, compared to a cutscene, provide the player with the satisfaction of “having personally completed the main objective,” following Haytham’s death the player has already undergone a series of intense conflicts and emotional peaks—the narrative and emotion are at a high point. Inserting a chase sequence at that moment might induce fatigue and make the storyline feel unnecessarily drawn out. I, for one, felt quite exhausted—especially running around on that burning ship with constant desynchronizations.

Moreover, in observing social media comments, I found that no player retained a profound memory of this level. Many already knew that Haytham was dead and that Charles Lee had nowhere left to run. The fate of Lee was almost psychologically expected by players, and with the players’ understanding of both factions’ histories and ideologies, even if they controlled Connor to chase and finally kill Charles Lee, after a thousand years of strife between Assassins and Templars, it would not feel like the ultimate resolution of fate’s entanglement. It is also very hard for the author to insert more emotional or progressive narrative to enrich or even elevate the storyline here.

Of course, rather than deleting this segment outright, it could also be heavily condensed—retaining only the necessary playable parts to maintain the logical consistency of the level design, controlling the duration and intensity of the chase or duel scenes so as not to overtax the player’s patience.

The Old Man on the Hill

The Death of Achilles

Connor returned to Davenport Homestead and saw his mentor seated calmly in a chair, his hat drawn low over his face.

“Old man… Achilles!”

He received no response, nor any sign of life.

The mentor had passed away, clutching in his hand the final letter meant for Connor:

“Connor, if you are reading this note, it means I never found the proper moment to bid you farewell as I had hoped. I leave this land and all its assets to you—I trust you now understand the special significance of this place. When the nation is established, this colonial community will serve as the best exemplar. But as it grows larger and stronger, defending it will become even more bitter and arduous. I hope that the friends who helped birth this humble village will understand this truth. Your unyielding determination and honesty place upon you a weightier responsibility than anyone else, yet you are undoubtedly more talented than all. You have given an old man hope, and for that I am grateful. Please let me rest forever on that hill overlooking the water—the best place in the world. I am glad to have met you, and I am convinced you will lead this land and its people toward a brighter future. Your eternal brother (Note: the Assassin Brotherhood is also called “Brothers”), Achilles.”

The player then controls Connor to contact a priest and arrange a fitting outdoor funeral for Achilles, while residents of the homestead spontaneously gather to bid farewell to the mentor. Connor’s profound grief intermingled with the residents’ respect creates a solemn scene. As everyone falls silent, a torrential rain begins, accompanied by low, somber background music and a cool-toned environment that swiftly transforms the originally harmonious homestead into a scene of tragic grandeur. The watchful eyes of the residents and Connor’s sorrowful yet calm expression deliver an immense emotional impact to the player. The pain of helpless separation also signifies that Connor must step out from his mentor’s shadow and face the future alone.

“I will make you proud, old man.”

This marks the conclusion of the Homestead quest series.

Legacy

After the funeral, the player can view the relics left behind by Achilles—a family portrait featuring him, his wife, and his child “Connor Achilles.” Yes, back then Achilles even used the name of his deceased child—“Connor Connor”—to name “Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

(Once again, Connor walks up to Achilles’ grave)

I didn’t get to bid you proper farewell before, because I wasn’t ready. So now, I have come. The weight of responsibility on my shoulders has never lessened; it seems there are always battles to fight.

This was something you never warned me about—perhaps you thought I would be frightened. You were wrong, though I know you are not accustomed to error.

(With a faint, wry laugh) Life endures here. The people seem happy. They are indeed safe, at least for now.

A man of the Brotherhood once asked me a question I couldn’t answer: What will happen when we win? What happens after we have thwarted the Templars? That is a question to which I have absolutely no answer—perhaps you don’t either. I miss you. Just as I miss Mother. I hope that wherever you are, all is well. Farewell, old man; until the day I join you, I will trouble you yet again.

Achilles raised young Connor to adulthood and continually educated him, molding him into a master Assassin of a new generation—as if he had become a father figure to Connor. He bequeathed the homestead and all his assets to Connor, which was not merely an inheritance of property but a generational transfer of the ideals and spirit of the Assassin Brotherhood. This wasn’t just a narrative handover; it also symbolized Connor’s gradual emergence from his mentor’s shadow and his beginning to truly shoulder his own mission.

Most players feel a deep melancholy during this quest, for Achilles accompanied Connor’s growth and was with the player through several chapters and a series of Homestead quests. His death allowed players to experience the pain of loss.

Open World and Quest Nodes

The Homestead quests aren’t like a TV series; they are an experience delivered through an open world. While I may critically evaluate other segments, with the Homestead quest series I am left only with feelings of warmth and lessons to learn.
Throughout this series of side quests, the player guides Connor as he helps the old man manage the homestead. He rescues one ordinary person after another, helping them settle in “Davenport Homestead,” repeatedly solving everyday problems for the residents—mediating disputes among lumberjacks, assisting carpenters in crafting modern furniture, helping miners create gifts for courtship, aiding deserter blacksmiths in evading pursuit, assisting an African American couple in escaping the fate of slavery and even summoning a doctor for childbirth. Finally, at the wedding of a miner and a huntress, the entire village congregates joyfully. This is the warm experience provided to the player, aside from the bleakness and resoluteness of the main quest.

The entire series contains more than thirty quests, most of which result in new residents settling or functional upgrades—forming a virtuous cycle between narrative and gameplay. Moreover, the characters in the homestead are not just there to serve functional roles or operate shops; they also reveal their own stories and personalities through dialogue and events. In the end, all characters gather to bid farewell to the mentor—a display of unity and tragic grandeur in stark contrast that delivers an even more profound emotional impact.

Besides helping refugees from all walks of life gradually integrate into the community—ensuring everyone finds a way forward—the player also needs to manage the community, which is the core of the Homestead experience. Completing quests does not automatically yield money; the player must develop trade, secure trade routes, hunt, upgrade ships, and continuously earn income. Through these tasks, players tangibly experience the transformation of land from barren to prosperous.

The open-world nature allows players the freedom to determine their own order for main and side quests. This gives the impression not of being forced to “go up the mountain and down to the countryside” at Davenport Homestead, but rather of actively building and managing it. The death of Achilles, as the final chapter of the side quests, is closely intertwined with Connor’s growth, thereby endowing the Homestead quests with higher narrative value rather than rendering them as isolated or dispensable as in many other open-world games.

The entire Homestead quest series—including Achilles’ funeral—allows players to return to this warm homeland and feel the genuine bonds between people. It enables Connor’s growth to be portrayed not merely through his battles with external foes, but also through a deep understanding of humanity, community-building, and the ideals of the Assassin Brotherhood. It comes with long-term engagement and buildup culminating in a final emotional eruption. Rather than simply reinforcing the work’s theme, it forms, along with the grand historical backdrop and inevitable fate of the main quests, another facet of the overall theme—much like watering a seed gives it life, allowing it to naturally grow in the player’s heart. This is one of the reasons I believe “Assassin’s Creed III” might be the best installment of the entire series.

The Lonely Innocent, the United Homestead

This section is not analysis, but rather my personal understanding of Connor.

Every child, as they grow up, must eventually face a harsh truth: most people in the world will never genuinely take the trouble to understand you; others’ attitudes toward you are basically contingent on whether they can derive some value from you.
Even before Lexington alerted the militia, Connor could sense that the officials of the Continental Army merely regarded him as a lower-class barbarian—their friendly attitude being merely utilitarian at that moment. Yet he still nurtured illusions about the Continental Army, believing that after their victory, power would be transferred to the people and true freedom realized. He thought that by supporting the Continental Army in the war for independence, his indigenous tribe would be spared from British aggression. When Washington’s massacre was laid before him, his confusion and anger were almost too much to bear. No one truly stood by his side.

Many facts were exactly as his father had foretold.
The people have no genuine choices; choices are made by a group of privileged cowards. These individuals pursue nothing more than to enrich their own interests. They secretly convene and make decisions that benefit themselves. They may use sweet words to dress up these decisions, but that does not make them reality. No matter how this revolution ends, the beneficiaries will undoubtedly be those with money and land. As for the slaves, the poor, the enlisted soldiers—they will be left behind to suffer. The people will never truly wield power; what they get is only the illusion of power.

He once believed that through his resilient character and arduous training, he could resolve everything to bring real peace to his tribe. But later he gradually came to realize that no matter how strong he might be, he would always be but a small figure; the efforts of a small person rarely shape history. Even when he saw through Washington’s true nature, he still chose to support the Continental Army. Although I cannot entirely fathom the author’s design of this phase of Connor’s inner journey, it is clearly the new path that Connor has chosen. After the game ends, there is a scene where he returns to his indigenous tribe only to find that his people have long migrated westward—leaving behind a lone old man warming himself by a fire. Indeed, he spared the tribe from British invasion, yet the new nation he supported—America—launched an evil colonial expansion—the “Manifest Destiny”—and in the end, he changed nothing.

This is also one of the reasons I believe “Assassin’s Creed III” might be the best installment of the entire series. It presents a real world, a genuine revolution. It is not a stark struggle between clear-cut good and evil, but rather an evolution of interests among different factions. It tells not only legendary tales of kings and generals but also the vicissitudes of little people’s lives. The brilliance of humanity intertwines with the cold reality; the tearing apart of ideals and the persistence of self-interest play in harmonious counterpoint.

Always fighting yet never truly possessing anything, always struggling yet never truly changing anything. But he never abandoned the pursuit of his ideals, nor did he forsake his dedication to freedom and justice. Even if nothing changed, even if he came to understand that the efforts of a single small person are ultimately insignificant in the tide of the times, Connor still fought for the belief in his heart—this is why Haytham is proud of his son.

(Final monologue of Connor at the end of the game—a recording later deleted by the production team, but preserved in the final pages of the novel)

I crouched on an open patch in the forest, staring at what I held in my hand: my mother’s necklace and my father’s amulet.

I said to myself, “Mother. Father. I’m sorry—I have let you down. Mother, I once made a promise to protect my people. I believed that if I could thwart the Templars, if I could free the revolution from their influence, then those I supported would do what was right for them. I suppose they did—in their own way, what was right. And you, Father, I once thought that we could join hands, that we could forget the past and build a better future. I believed that sooner or later, you too would come to see the world as I do—understanding it fully. But that was merely a fantasy. And for that, I should have long understood: we cannot coexist in peace, can we? Is it so? Are we doomed to perpetual conflict? Must we always struggle against each other?”

“I have known hardship, yet never as severe as today. Watching all that I have fought for be twisted, discarded, forgotten—you might say, Father, that what I describe is nothing but a repetition of all human history. So, would you laugh now? Would you like me to say the words you have longed to hear—confirming that you have always been right? I refuse to do so, even now, even while faced with the cold facts behind your biting words, for I believe that everything can still change.”

“I may never succeed; the Assassins might futilely struggle on for another thousand years. But we will never stop fighting.”

I began to dig.

“Compromise—everyone insisted I compromise, so I learned to do so. But I think my compromise is different from that of most. I now realize that this will take a long time; I recognize that the road ahead is not only long but shrouded in darkness—a path that cannot always lead me where I desire—and I doubt if I will live to see its end. Nonetheless, I must continue on it.”

I dug without ceasing, until the hole was deep enough—a depth greater than that required for a burial, deep enough for me to crawl into.

“Because hope will accompany me. In the face of all that endures, I turned around and kept moving forward—and this, this is my compromise.”

I threw the amulet into the hole, and then, as the sun began to set in the west, I shoveled dirt over it until it was well concealed, and then I turned and walked away.

Filled with hope for the future, I returned to my people—returned to the Assassins.

It was time to seek new strength.

I do not understand why the production team chose to delete this recording. I even saw that some players who truly love this installment went through tens of thousands of audio files, opening and analyzing each one until they found this recording. People saw the stubbornness in Connor, and witnessed the extraordinary determination he exhibited amid ordinariness. Though he could not steer the course of an era, he never abandoned his childlike sincerity. He immersed himself among the people, one by one helping ordinary, distressed individuals to secure shelter and dignity, gathering glimmers of hope with his modest strength until he truly established a model Davenport Homestead around him. For this reason, every action of Connor forged a unique radiance and warmth in the series’ character spectrum. The elevation of the narrative is not empty whining, not bureaucratic rhetoric, not a monotonous grand historical narration—it is the firsthand experience of struggling alongside small figures, as if a towering peak had arisen in one’s heart.

“暮色苍茫看劲松，乱云飞渡仍从容。 Beneath the twilight’s deepening hue, behold the stalwart pine; While chaotic clouds rush overhead, it stands serenely at ease.”

Afterword

In my view, the storyline of Assassin’s Creed 3 is nothing short of epic; in terms of depth and grandeur, it even surpasses the Brotherhood trilogy, although it does have its shortcomings. It seems as though this work was merely a few segments crudely excised from a much larger script—if players wish to grasp the full story, they must purchase the entire trilogy (including Black Flag and Liberation). All I can do is express my helplessness at this situation.

Even with these flaws, Assassin’s Creed 3 still presents one of the most realistic and impactful thematic visions in the entire series. Its reflections on the world and on human nature go beyond typical game narratives and can be seen as one of Ubisoft’s bold experimental attempts within the franchise. Since then, perhaps no other work has pushed the thematic envelope further; maybe the Assassin’s Creed series has long since run its course.

I come from a feudal family and had very few toys during my childhood. Once, when my father went to chat with one of his friends, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with his left hand and, with his right, took little me along. I watched in amazement as children from other families maneuvered characters, leaping from building to building with astounding agility. At the time, I kept murmuring, “I want to play too… I want to play too…” The big man, growing impatient, told me, “You’re too young; you can’t handle this.” I insisted that I would manage, and he said, “Then give it a try.” In the end, I really couldn’t operate it.
“Won’t you teach me how to play?”
“If you can’t play, just stand aside and watch.”

A few years later, I saved up my pocket money and managed to buy some junk parts, eventually putting together a PC. Later, on the Internet, I discovered that very game I had always longed to play but never could—Assassin’s Creed 3. Not only was it my first AAA title, but it also became the work within the Assassin’s Creed series that touched me most deeply, even though it generally receives middling reviews from players across the series.

It wasn’t until I had been working away from home for who knows how many autumns and winters, and after purchasing Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey at full price, that I found myself unable to continue playing it. Revisiting Assassin’s Creed 3 and reading the official novel Abandoned gave me a whole new perspective on the story it told. The analysis in this article is based on these renewed feelings and reflections. My purpose in writing this piece is not merely to share my personal emotions regarding the game, but also to explore some common issues in game storytelling through specific case studies and to propose potential improvements. I believe that these problems and suggestions could serve as valuable references for other game developers as well.