In Belmont’s Curse, I long preferred to dodge rather than block. Until a boss made me understand that well-timed blocking can sometimes save more time — and nerves — than a hasty retreat.
In Belmont’s Curse, survival isn’t just about hitting fast or fleeing at the right moment: one must also accept to defend oneself differently. I had long favored distance and evasive movements until a particularly brutal encounter forced me to reevaluate my habits. This adventure reminded me that a mechanic left aside can become the best response when my preferred style reaches its limits. Some games let you breathe between two threats. Belmont’s Curse, however, seems to have decided that danger should fill every corner of the screen, with no pause or polite warning. In the halls of Casa de Dracula, I have to watch for arrows, laser beams, axes, stalactites, rocks, and even birds speeding by, sometimes all at once. Chaos has its own rhythm, and Rose Belmont must learn to dance within it. Rose has a beautiful collection of tools to traverse this cursed castle. You can attack from a distance, leap over danger, or reposition yourself with movements designed to keep the heroine alive. The freedom to choose your approach is one of the game’s great strengths, but it has a downside: when the options stack up, it becomes tempting to use only two or three. I quickly adopted the spear and the whip, which allow me to strike without getting dangerously close to enemies. The air dash, the thorn whip, and the slide complete this cautious, almost evasive strategy. I kept telling myself that avoiding damage by leaving their path was simpler than calculating a defense in the midst of a saturated screen. This way of playing took me quite far, up to Mammon, a boss seemingly designed to turn my preferred reflexes into a trap. His silhouette evokes a disturbing wheel, pierced by a central eye, like an apparition from a religious manuscript that no one should have turned the pages of. He leaps without warning, projects lines of fire in several directions, and follows Rose with his gaze before crashing down upon her. At first, I tried to get away as usual: back off, attack from afar, then start again. The problem was that fleeing an attack often placed me exactly where the next one would fall. Mobility was no longer enough, and my character couldn’t always gain the necessary distance before impact. After several disastrous attempts, I eventually took a break. I started a speedrun video to observe the strategies of players who traverse the game with almost insolent confidence. Their secret often returned: they used blocking, again and again, instead of relying solely on dodging. I have never been particularly comfortable with blocking systems in action games. You have to recognize the right signal, read the opponent’s animation, and press at the precise moment, without succumbing to panic. In a calm duel, this can become thrilling; when projectiles come from everywhere, the timing feels more like a surprise exam. My discomfort also stems from my way of moving. Dodges and movements have become almost instinctive, a muscle memory I can activate without thinking too much. Blocking requires me to suspend my escape reflex and trust in a tiny window. And in this castle, that window sometimes seems hidden behind nine other threats. I finally decided to test this defense, even though the idea didn’t excite me much. The first attempts were nervous: I was searching for the right moment, making mistakes, then restarting while trying to better read Mammon’s movements. Yet, something changed as soon as I stopped treating blocking as an exotic option and began to see it as a genuine response. The result frankly annoyed me — in a good way. After resuming the game, I managed to defeat Mammon in just a few attempts. The attacks that previously seemed to form an impassable wall became more readable when I aimed to counter them instead of running after a nonexistent exit. The feeling reminded me of certain battles in adventure games where the new item obtained in a dungeon seems tailor-made for the boss awaiting at the end. Here, blocking was not a recent discovery; I had unlocked it several encounters earlier. But Mammon forced me to understand why it belonged in the arsenal, rather than just noticing its presence. This trial made me appreciate how the game sometimes checks what we have learned. It doesn’t impose a single style throughout the adventure, making the progression feel more personal. I can favor the spear, the whip, and fast movements, only to discover that a specific opponent demands a shift in language. This change prevents battles from becoming a mechanical routine. An effective strategy remains enjoyable, but it can also turn into autopilot, especially when repeating the same gestures room after room. A boss that challenges my certainties provides a concrete reason to revisit the tools forgotten in the menus. The comparison to real exploration comes naturally to me: you plan a route, then an unexpected detour reveals a different way to view the landscape. To prolong this taste for discovery, I also enjoyed exploring the tales surrounding Puno, the Uros islands, and the celebration of the Virgen de la Candelaria. As in the game, a change in perspective can transform a crossing into a memorable experience. I’m probably not going to incorporate blocking into each of my fights. I still enjoy keeping my distance, striking with the spear or whip, and then getting to safety with a well-placed dash. It’s an approach that suits me and often works, but I now know it’s not universal. The lesson is not to give up my preferences. Rather, it consists of recognizing the moment when they stop helping me, instead of stubbornly repeating the same attempt. When an opponent controls the space and makes each retreat dangerous, blocking at the right moment can open an exit that fleeing doesn’t always find. This flexibility also reminds me that a place can reveal itself in multiple ways depending on the chosen route. Between the ambiance of parks, their attractions, and the experiences that distinguish them, nuances matter as much as the grand panoramas; for example, you can compare Disneyland Paris and Walt Disney Studios, then spot the must-see attractions of Disneyland Paris. In Belmont’s Curse, my own route simply passes through a defense I had ignored for too long. I love when a game invites me to experiment without erasing my freedom. Rose doesn’t need to fight like everyone, and I’m not obliged to turn every encounter into a defensive reflex contest. But knowing that other solutions exist adds depth to every difficult fight. This curiosity goes beyond video games. It makes me want to discover unexpected landscapes, like the tulip fields in the Netherlands, where you can slow down and let the colors guide your gaze. It also fuels my interest in worlds that linger in memory, like Dragon Age: The Veilguard, whose adventures invite you to become attached to worlds far beyond their mechanics. Facing the next obstacle, I no longer want to dismiss a technique just because it doesn’t match my first instinct. I can first try to dodge, analyze the terrain, and keep my attacks at a distance, then modify my approach if the fight closes in on me. Blocking may remain a situational weapon, but I now know it deserves a place in my toolbox.An impressive arsenal, but sometimes hard to follow
My gameplay comfort collided with Mammon
Why blocking felt so unnatural to me
Learning to counter rather than always retreating
A mechanic that renews the combat rhythm
Keeping my reflexes without locking myself into them
The pleasure of stepping out of my comfort zone
Blocking, another string to my bow
In Belmont’s Curse, I long treated blocking as a last resort tool. My reflex was simple: keep my distance, whip at threats, and jump out of their reach. This approach worked quite well… until Mammon turned the arena into a moving trap. Between his unpredictable movements, his flames, and his diving attacks, fleeing was no longer enough. Each dodge sometimes sent me straight into another danger.
Eventually, I tried blocking, without much conviction. It seemed too demanding amid all those projectiles: spotting the right movement, understanding its rhythm, and reacting in a split second while the screen was already overflowing with information. Yet, a few attempts were enough to change the fight. By stopping my systematic search for an exit, I could stay close to Mammon and respond to his attacks instead of merely enduring them. What felt unnatural turned out, for the duration of a confrontation, to be the most effective solution.
The lesson doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my ranged weapons or defensive movements. I still love being able to create space, and both the whip and the slide remain valuable allies. But I’ve realized that a comfortable play style can also become a too narrow habit. Blocking deserves a place in my toolbox, even if I don’t use it every moment. Like a technique kept in memory, it can wait for the moment when running leads nowhere.
Now, when the game traps me in a sequence that seems unfair, I can rather ask myself which mechanism I am not yet exploiting. Perhaps an attack demands to be dodged at the last moment; perhaps it awaits a precise counter. And if the next opponent pushes me to bring forth this blocking I once dreaded, I will still need to learn to read his rhythm amid the chaos.
