Sometimes, the magic of Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth isn’t in the careful strategy or tactical precision. It’s in the chaos. The randomness. The raw absurdity that unfolds when half the battlefield is stunned, flaming arrows are flying, and Ichiban is screaming something about being Kiryu while the music goes absolutely feral. What follows is less a structured guide, and more a glorious celebration of moments so wild, you almost forget you’re playing a turn-based RPG.

“You Can’t Kill Me. Let’s Ro—”

The opening stutter of a battle cry that immediately gets interrupted by layered music chaos sets the tone. We’re not here for clean transitions. We’re here for reckless momentum, power moves, and zero apologies. The soundtrack is roaring, characters are screaming, and then… silence. A moment of restraint. Of reflection. Only to be shattered again by the next outrageous sequence.

The Return of Kamak Dog

He’s back. No explanation needed. Just the ominous announcement that “I’ve got Kamak Dog back” and suddenly the room changes. You are Kiryu. Or Ichiban is. Or both? You hate r—well, people. Let’s just say the emotional clarity is less important than the feeling of raw dominance.

Strategic Brutality: “Pain, Then Fear”

Among the madness is a piece of unexpectedly methodical advice: First comes pain, then fear. A reminder that fear isn’t effective until it’s earned. You don’t just slap someone and expect obedience—you condition them. Damage them enough to make the fear sink in. Keep them conscious, keep them afraid. It’s a disturbing, yet deeply theatrical approach to combat psychology—spoken with cold clarity amidst an otherwise unhinged battlefield.

Glitches, Buffs, and Questionable Skills

“This skill is weirdly good,” someone remarks, mid-chaos. And they’re right. Some abilities in Infinite Wealth don’t shine until you see them in action. Like a skill that feels like garbage on paper, but ends up chain-stunning every enemy on screen. Or that one weird buff move that’s just a dice roll of effects—but it works. Sometimes. Maybe.

The gameplay commentary hits with sharp honesty: “It’s the exact same as the last game—what do you want from me?”The frustration and affection walk hand-in-hand.

The Law, the Range, and the Ninja Nonsense

“Stop. You violated the law.” A timeless callback, followed by everything descending into madness. You try to measure range, but what you see isn’t what you get. The attack says it’s going to hit one square, then goes two beyond it. Physics is optional. And then a ninja drops from nowhere and things really start unraveling. Buffs you didn’t ask for. Debuffs you didn’t see coming. And the burning arrow? Perfect timing, right as the enemy takes the first turn… again.

The Unfiltered Commentary Zone

From “What the [bleep] is that?” to the crystal-clear realization of a guard break gone too far—“Yep, he’s definitely not having kids now”—the color commentary elevates everything. It’s part play-by-play, part emotional breakdown. The absurdity is shared, which somehow makes it even more immersive.

There’s no pretense here. Just raw reactions. Enemies get obliterated mid-animation. Players scream as they realize they miscalculated a timing. “Sparkling clean,” someone jokes after a brutal beatdown—deadpan. The silence between screams becomes its own punchline.

Final Thoughts: Beautiful, Glorious Mayhem

This wasn’t a guide. Not really. It was a collage—a tapestry of madness and humor stitched together by combat music, flaming arrows, and one guy trying to explain why stun is broken. Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth thrives in these moments. They’re chaotic. Sometimes even unfair. But they’re unforgettable.

So go ahead. Load up your weirdest team comp. Spam the unpredictable skills. Slap ‘em around. Fear won’t work without the pain first anyway.

And if all else fails? You’ve got Kamak Dog back. That should count for something.