Space Salvager vs Salt Crown

There's a fortune inside this derelict, and nobody left alive to stop you taking it. Every part you cut free makes the wreck likelier to come down on top of you. Nothing warns you when to leave. There's only what's already in your hold, and how much of it you're willing to bet on one more cut. Space Salvager is a push-your-luck game about greed and timing. You captain a beat-up tug on the edge of explored space: find the dead ships, strip them, and get out before the structure fails. Take too little and you can't afford the fuel home. Take too much and you lose the lot. THE CUT THAT COSTS YOU Every component has a price in stability. Below half, each removal can start a collapse - girders fail, fires start, arcs jump the hull, radiation floods a section. You can always ride it out for one more piece. People do. That's how ships get lost. SEVEN KINDS OF DEAD SHIP Freighters, mining rigs, research vessels, military frigates, colony transports, luxury liners - and occasionally a contact matching no hull design on record. Sealed compartments can be gambled open for a fortune or for slag. Some wrecks hold things that were never meant to be aboard. YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE OUT HERE Rival salvagers arrive mid-job and start cutting the far side. Pay them off, threaten them, or race them to the good parts before they get there. WHAT YOU LEAVE BEHIND Abandon a wreck and it doesn't reset. It stays out there in real time, decaying, getting picked over by someone else. Come back in three days and find out what's left of it. FIFTEEN HULLS, THREE BERTHS The Kestrel is out before the hull knows it was there. The Ox carries everything and leaves slowly - you will fill the hold, and you will regret it when the countdown starts. The Lamprey strips a wreck faster than anything in the registry and takes damage like wet paper. The Bastion is built to survive the collapse rather than avoid it. No hull is strictly better than another. The right one depends on the wreck. THE SHIP'S LOCKER Twenty personal effects, recovered from seven crews. The Long Haul. Cold Hypothesis. Promise of Rain. Seventeen Thousand Years. Sell them for credits, or keep them and eventually learn what happened aboard. Selling the last piece of a set costs you the ending. THE DAILY WRECK One seeded wreck a day, the same for every salvager, flown on a loaner rig. One attempt. Come back tomorrow. NO PAYWALL Free to play, with no in-app purchases. Ads are opt-in rewards only - you choose to watch one, at a moment you picked, for something specific. No banners, no interstitials, nothing that plays uninvited. Credits, fuel and repairs are never for sale. The risk is the game - we're not selling you a way around it. Find it. Strip it. Get out alive.

You are the Warden of Solnitsa, a salt-mine keep, on the Night the fire is low. The Host outside is bound by the same law that binds you. Nothing crosses a threshold uninvited. Nothing takes what is not owed. A name given freely is a claim. So they do not storm the walls. They stand in the dark and wait for you to break the law first — and you will, because the fire needs feeding, and the granary needs opening, and somebody is knocking politely at the gate wearing a face you know. Twelve Watches until dawn. Three bodies. One purse. Salt Crown is FTL's crew triage rebuilt as a castle under siege: a folk-horror roguelike played across a lit cross-section of the keep, one room at a time, until the Night ends or you do. EVERYTHING IS A BODY IN A ROOM No ability bars. No cooldowns. If nobody walks to the gate, nobody holds the gate. Each defender has Vigor, Hands and Nerve, and every order costs the time it takes to cross the castle. THE TALLY IS A BILL, NOT A TIMER The Host writes down what it is owed, and every mark is something you did — a door opened, a guest invited, a name given away. At three marks they come sooner. At twelve, the Crowning. A bill is a thing you can argue with. A timer is not. ONE PURSE, THREE HUNGERS Chime buys wards, Chime feeds the fire, Chime pays people, and it will not do all three. Ember is the run clock and it burns whether or not you are looking at it. The dawn screen tells you exactly where it went. FOLKLORE LAW IS THE RULE SYSTEM Guest-right, threshold-law, name-law. Salt in the mouth is a truth test. The polite thing at the gate is a mechanic, not a mood. GLANCEABLE, BRUTAL, INSTANTLY REPEATABLE The whole castle is one screen. Pause is always a tap away. A Night runs fifteen to twenty-five minutes; losing takes rather less, and starting again takes seconds. WHAT IS IN IT • 41 hand-written event cards — every word original • Eight rooms, three besieging Hosts, one hearth • A deterministic simulation: the same seed is the same Night, every time • Landscape, one-thumb controls, built for phone and iPad alike • Plays fully offline — nothing to download, nothing to log into • No ads, no tracking, no accounts, no in-app purchases; the game saves on your device Keep the fire. Keep the law. Keep the count. Salt Crown's pixel art is generated with Pixellab (AI image generation) against a hand-built style specification, then curated and integrated by hand. All design, code and writing is original work by Arkynate.