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Prestigious parents often bear a burden of expectations for their children. Much to the doteful disappointment of the audience however, “The Heroic Legend of Arslan” turns out to be something of a black sheep. Lovechild of original creators Yoshiki Tanaka (LOGH) and Hiromu Arakawa (FMA: B), Arslan shines a bright glow of mediocrity under the shadow of its peers.

Arslan bases itself on the manga, which in turn bases itself on the original novel, which at last takes inspiration from a loosely compiled set of Persian tales. If you weren’t already familiar with the term “suspension of disbelief”, then you’ll be quite capable by the ... end of the 25th episode. The story begins climatically as the “undefeated” king of Pars is defeated by the Lusistinian [European infidel] army after Pars is betrayed. Our titular main character, Arslan, is then thrust into seeking the crown because apparently, inexperience and innocence are signs of excellent leaders. Along the journey, Arslan attracts several companions who force the plot forward, exploiting an array of stupidly overpowered abilities.
If this summary sounds somewhat familiar, it’s because you’ve already watched Akatsuki no Yona. As it turns out, “the King returns” is hardly an original plothook. Arslan fails to differentiate itself from this association. Case in point, Arakawa goes as far as to replace Daryun’s sword from the novel with a spear, in a direct parallel to Yona boyfriend #1. The most disappointing thing about Arslan’s story however is not predictable plot structure, but rather the entire journey we take up to the final episode (queue 2nd season). When Arslan encounters problems, solutions are always in stock. Any meaningful consequences the story has to offer are whimsically avoided. The utter lack of tension stems from the fact that characters are never seriously threatened. This is fairly attributable to the abysmal performance of enemy soldiers, who switch on their autistic mode when faced with the slightest manifestation of “enemy planning”. Such mighty power seemingly retains divine superiority above all things, no matter how terrible the planning actually sounds. Antagonists rarely attempt to think of counter tactics, or even provide a contingency plan. There is little semblance of planning beyond the word “charge”, as depicted by the Silver Mask who just cannot resist the opportunity to place himself in the most dangerous position possible, imitating the likes of Bronze LoL players. And even though they constantly outnumber Arslan’s forces, there is never an attempt to use superior numbers to any tactical advantage whatsoever. In simpler terms, they demonstrate a consistently remarkable incompetency.
But if tactical engagements become so predictable, then what does Arslan have left to surprise us? Magic, apparently. If you had any more than a sniffle of expectation for rationality left, then you’re oft for a nasty awakening. Slightly more halfway through episode 12, xx_sketchy_pedo_assassin11_xx phases through the ground like a clipping ragdoll, staring menacingly at Daryun’s behind before attacking [torpedoing] him. Just… why? Like many characters, magic exists solely because the writers were too lazy to provide coherent explanations for events in the story, shortcutting the pacing of plot progression. This has the added effect of cheapening out the audience’s expectations. When it is revealed that the only reason Pars even lost in the first episode was because of “magic”, Arslan’s entire premise falls apart. Given how ridiculous most of the non-magical events in the anime already are, there doesn’t seem to be much difference.

The prime instigator for the intellectually-triggering planning is Narsus, Arslan’s near-omnipotent advisor. The party constantly relies on Narsus to deal with nearly every possible situation. Need tactical genius? He draws out half-baked bat-shit strategies and maneuvers like they were Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Political know-how? He may have only had court experience for a few years, but he acts the part of a cunning court wife. Family man? Somehow, this guy finds the time halfway through the series to pick up some random hobo broad. Definitely one of the less-human characters.
Daryun serves as Narsus’s “Dynasty Warrior”-esque counterpart, rescuing Arslan himself countless times. He goes beyond the physically impossible, as in episode 12 where he blitzes through time and space, bullet-timing several eurocucks in order to save the prince [princess] from xx_sketchy_pedo_assassin11_xx. I took a few moments to laugh at how ridiculous this shit looked when I saw it, but then I realized that they no longer had any intention of making Daryun even vaguely human. Yona at the very least justifies boyfriend #1 by pitting his efforts against attractive dragon boys. The only time Darius even appears to struggle is during his fight against the giant, where Darius appeared to be on the verge of defeat. Or at least, until we learn that he was faking effort all along so he could one-shot his opponent. Again.
Gieve and Falangies serve little purpose beyond filling in as niche solutions to problems, what with Gieve… being there, and Geese inflicting Stormtrooper-level aiming at will (not that they would have hit anything anyway). Gieve constantly attempts to woo her in an effort at comedy relief, but their relationship doesn’t get any deeper than the surface. Beyond that, I fail to understand why they even exist in the show.
It’s precisely because of the swiss-knife efficiency of his party that Arslan himself undergoes minimal growth all throughout the series. The constant coddling reduces him to the role of “figurehead king”. His first foray into battle actually seems to inspire PTSD in him, as he deals with the horror of slaying a man- Or so you’d think. A few episodes later, he’s back to happily sniping down cavalry. Likewise, he gives minimal thought to his companion’s continuous slaughter of men, instead opting to save his compassion to slaves. In fact, Arslan bases the majority of his motivation for kingship on the abolishment of slavery. In the same manner as post American civil-war, he eventually learns that simply removing slavery does not always make a happy slave- Or so you’d think. Towards the end, he proceeds to announce his intention to eradicate slavery without bothering to plan for an afterwards… But that’s okay since his companions are so terribly OP he never truly needs to learn from his mistakes. This ignorance appears to be something of superior monarchal quality however, since it is the only reasoning his companions provide when asked why they serve Arslan. A truly remarkable display of loyalty.
Of special note is Etoile, a fanatical tsundere crusader who’s given a chance to rise above the communal pit of shame. Her kidnaping-adventure with a young Arslan is what first inspires him to reassess Pars’s slavery, later serving as justification for seeking the crown. Their third meeting performs likewise, spurring excellently reasonable motivation in our timid prince. He finally begins to somewhat confidently takes the role of decision-maker; a quality lacking throughout the rest of the series. It seems that out of all the characters in Arslan, Etoile is the only one that doesn’t pamper or take advantage of him. There is an attempt at backstory in the second half, but sadly, it is rushed over quickly and reduced to nonimportance.

Although sound design is not a common aspect of discussion, the usage of JoJo-like sound effects in combat is very overt. Scenes depicting heavy impacts are accompanied by a blearing amount of bass. What works in JoJo should, nevertheless, stay in JoJo. It sounds terribly misused in an anime that struggles to convey justification, instead suggesting that it merely exists to sound “cool”.
Despite sharing Brotherhood’s character design, Arslan’s general art and animation is a far flung fantasy of a comparison. The opening battle introduces us to a use of CGI that is heavily parodied by modern cinema. An ineffectually zooming camera cuts across a blob-like engagement between two factions of generic, faceless soldiers for an inordinate period of time. This use of clay-soldiers seemingly holds true for any fight that involves large groups. Suffice to say, it is quite ugly. 2D horse animations are frequently terrible, closely mirroring the infamous “quality” horse animation in Spice and Wolf. For a series that sees fit to utilize horses in every single battle, you’d think that they’d have at least put some effort into this regard.
Battle choreography is similarly held in lesser regard. Characters often show little understanding of any martial technique that isn’t a left or right slash when using swords. In fact, Gieve in episode eleven parries the same exact L/R pattern THREE times in a row, a brilliant example of what it might be like to fight Kirito’s mook reincarnation. There are of course, two exceptions to this. In the first OP, animator Satoshi Kimura (probably him) makes excellent use of 3D backgrounds in the Daryun vs Silver Mask duel to incorporate a rotating 360 degree shot around the fight, an innovative technique that not nearly enough animators take advantage of. The penultimate episode’s fight (once again featuring Darius and Edgelord) similarly excels. After whiffing his thrust, Daryun gores into a pillar, lodging his blade deeply into the structure. But instead of trying to free his blade, he gouges across the fucking thing into a follow-up horizontal swing. This no-fucks personality painted by animation certainly doesn’t come across when all we see is character mindlessly one-shotting mass produced soldiers for several episodes.

In the end, perhaps you could say that this particular heroic legend just wasn’t the kind for me. You could go on to suggest that warfare was never a crucial element to the story, and that perhaps, the emphasis of Arslan should be based on its portrayal of woefully ignorant royalty identifying problems within his Kingdom’s internal practices, and going on both a physical and figurative journey to his maturity. But no matter how deficiently optimistic you choose to put it, Arslan never intended itself to be something great. Instead, Arslan basks quite happily in the rays of averageness, and we contentedly conclude that there really shouldn’t have been much to expect anyway.