JILI-Mines Strategy Guide: Unlock Winning Tactics and Avoid Common Pitfalls

When I first booted up Shadow Labyrinth, I expected another classic metroidvania experience—the kind that immediately throws you into a sprawling world full of mysterious branching paths. Instead, what I encountered was a surprisingly linear opening stretch that lasted around five hours. Now, I’ve played my fair share of metroidvania titles—from Hollow Knight to Bloodstained—so I know that a slow start isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker. But here’s the thing: in Shadow Labyrinth, those initial hours felt more like an extended tutorial than an invitation to explore. Sure, there were forking paths here and there, some leading to upgrades or secrets, others blocked off until I gained the right ability. But the game didn’t truly open up until much later, and by then, I couldn’t help but feel a little underwhelmed.

Let me be clear—I don’t mind linearity when it serves a purpose. Some of my favorite games use it to build narrative tension or introduce mechanics gradually. But in Shadow Labyrinth, the shift from guided progression to open exploration felt abrupt, almost jarring. One moment, I was following a clear critical path, and the next, the game handed me multiple objectives and said, “Go wherever you want.” On paper, that sounds fantastic. In practice, though, it highlighted some of the game’s biggest weaknesses. For starters, the world design, while visually appealing, lacked the intricate interconnectedness that defines great metroidvanias. I remember spending close to 45 minutes backtracking through areas I’d already cleared, only to find that the “new” path I’d unlocked led to a disappointingly small reward—a minor health upgrade, maybe, or a piece of lore that didn’t feel all that impactful.

And that brings me to what I think is Shadow Labyrinth’s core issue: it struggles to balance freedom with direction. Once the game opens up, you’re given free rein to explore in any direction you can, but without a strong incentive or clear signposting, it’s easy to feel lost or, worse, uninterested. I found myself consulting online guides more often than I’d like to admit—something I rarely do in this genre. Compare that to a title like Ori and the Blind Forest, where every new ability seamlessly integrates into both exploration and combat, and you’ll see what I mean. In Shadow Labyrinth, upgrades often felt situational, useful only in specific contexts rather than transformative. I’d estimate that about 60% of the power-ups I collected ended up being used in just one or two scenarios, which made backtracking feel less rewarding.

Another factor that held the game back, in my opinion, was its pacing. The first five hours are slow—deliberately so—but instead of building toward a satisfying payoff, the later sections introduce a slew of objectives that don’t always cohere. At one point, I had three major quests active simultaneously: retrieving an ancient artifact, rescuing a captured ally, and unlocking a sealed zone. Normally, I’d love this kind of non-linear structure, but here, it felt overwhelming rather than empowering. The lack of a clear hierarchy or narrative urgency made it hard to stay invested. I’d often forget why I was pursuing a certain objective until a diary entry or NPC reminded me—and by then, the emotional momentum had fizzled out.

Now, I don’t want to sound overly critical. There were moments when Shadow Labyrinth shone—like the cleverly hidden secret areas that required precise platforming or the occasional boss fight that forced me to rethink my strategy. But these highlights were too few and far between to elevate the experience above its contemporaries. I’ve played at least a dozen metroidvania titles in the last three years alone, and I’d place Shadow Labyrinth somewhere in the middle of the pack. It’s competently made, with solid controls and a moody art style that sets a compelling atmosphere. Yet, it lacks the polish and depth of genre giants like Dead Cells or even indie darlings such as Axiom Verge.

If I had to pinpoint where things went wrong, I’d say it’s in the game’s reluctance to fully commit to its metroidvania roots. The genre thrives on discovery and player agency, but Shadow Labyrinth often prioritizes checklist-style objectives over organic exploration. For example, I remember stumbling upon a hidden chamber behind a false wall—a classic metroidvania trope—only to find that it contained yet another fetch quest item instead of a meaningful upgrade or story beat. Moments like these made the world feel less like a living, breathing place and more like a series of disconnected levels.

So, where does that leave us? As someone who’s spent hundreds of hours dissecting game design, I believe Shadow Labyrinth is a cautionary tale about the importance of pacing and cohesion in non-linear games. It’s not a bad game by any means—just a missed opportunity. Had the developers tightened the opening, improved the utility of upgrades, and woven the multiple objectives into a more cohesive whole, it could have been something special. Instead, it settles for being a decent, if unremarkable, entry in a crowded genre. If you’re new to metroidvanias, you might find enough here to enjoy. But for veterans like me, it’s hard not to walk away feeling a little disappointed.