"Britain?"
"That's right."
Artoria nodded, her voice steady and resolute. "Perhaps you're right—an imitation can never surpass the original. With the [Divine Savior Blade] in your hands, you are indeed the true Last King, and I am but a counterfeit. Defeating you should be impossible."
She took a step forward, her gaze locking with Rama's, the weight of her presence pressing down like a storm. "But I am the true King Arthur, the rightful sovereign of the isle of Britain. In this land, you are the imitation. This land is mine to govern, and not even the Last King can claim anything from it without my permission."
It was important not to forget that Artoria, aside from possessing the skill [Last King (False)], also bore the skill [Sovereign of Britain].
With this ability, Artoria could freely absorb the life force of Britain's land and return that energy to its soil.
Her descent into this world was made possible when the ley lines of Britain manifested as the Red Dragon, nearly killed by the heretical Nuada and Saint George. In that moment of crisis, Artoria had been summoned into existence.
The Red Dragon ultimately met its demise, but its power was absorbed by Artoria. After the battle ended, she returned its strength to the ley lines of Britain.
This ability to manipulate the land's life force at will was the true power of [Sovereign of Britain].
"...I see. So, that's how it is?" Rama responded calmly, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Thank you for explaining this. But if I'm only affected within this country, then all I need to do is escape outside its borders, correct?"
"Would you, though?"
"Why wouldn't I? Staying in an environment that favors my enemy isn't something a competent warrior would do."
Indeed, with Rama's abilities, if he truly wanted to flee, Artoria wouldn't be able to stop him.
The [Divine Savior Blade] was Rama's essence; as long as the blade remained intact, Rama could resurrect endlessly, growing stronger with each rebirth.
While the Marquis Voban was the oldest known Campione, countless others had existed before him. In certain eras, multiple Campiones had even founded nations and waged protracted wars.
Humanity had passed through many ages, each producing powerful Campiones—including those who had once slain the Last King Rama himself.
Yet, in the end, those Campiones all fell—killed by the resurrected and even stronger Rama.
Artoria lacked the power to stop Rama from fleeing, but curiously, she didn't seem concerned.
"I know you won't run," she said, her tone composed.
Rama's brows furrowed, his confusion evident as he regarded her.
Artoria met his gaze evenly. "When I looked into your eyes earlier, I could feel it… your soul has long since decayed. The rust on the [Divine Savior Blade] isn't the result of weathering—it's the scars etched into your very being. Deep down, your subconscious has been yearning for an end to your fate, yet you've never been able to let go on your own."
Rama had been carrying a heavy burden, forced to act against what he truly desired.
In mythology, Rama defeated the demon king to save his beloved wife, Sita, and ascended to the throne. Yet his people deemed Sita impure, unworthy to remain his queen. Though Rama trusted her, he did nothing to challenge his subjects' judgment. Bound by his role as "the king his people desired," he coldly allowed Sita to suffer.
In the end, to prove her innocence, Sita prayed to the earth: "If I am pure, let the earth accept my body." A chasm opened, and Sita was swallowed by the land.
Her purity was vindicated, but Rama lost her forever.
The Rama in Fate/Grand Order represents the young hero who had just embarked on his quest to defeat the demon king and rescue Sita. While his strength couldn't compare to his future self as a king, this youthful version was willing to sacrifice everything for Sita.
But the Rama before Artoria now was different from the Chaldean Servant she had met. He remained shackled to the mission imposed upon him, unable to break free from the destiny of a hero.
His soul was riddled with scars, corroded and rusted. Yet even now, he bore the weight of others' expectations.
No matter how much he longed for release, he couldn't make that choice himself.
Which is why someone else had to push him.
"You're tired of it, aren't you? This fate forced upon you. So why waste any more time?"
Artoria raised her sword, her expression deadly serious as she scrutinized Rama's every reaction.
"You haven't been consumed by the madness of your broken legend. You're still the hero who answered his people's call to vanquish the demon king. Someone like you wouldn't want to see this beautiful world destroyed because of your actions. And as long as you remain in this land, you don't need to worry about draining the earth's life force to its death."
She leveled her blade at him. "I know you won't hold back, but there's no point in dragging this out any further. Let's settle this with the next strike."
"Either I defeat you and free you from this accursed fate… or you kill me."
"This isn't 'holding back,' is it?"
Rama stared at her for a long moment before a gentle smile broke across his face.
"No, it's not holding back. Very well… let's end this."
Rama gripped the [Divine Savior Blade] tightly as a massive surge of magical energy converged on his position, causing the very ground to quake.
A blazing sun rose over the horizon.
But it wasn't the real sun—it was the light radiating from the [Divine Savior Blade].
"[Divine Savior Blade], rejoice! This is the final blow! Whether we win or lose, we may never face a more worthy or formidable opponent again. So let us pour everything into this strike!"
Rama soared into the sky, the stars above him growing unnaturally bright, as if responding to his power. The cosmos itself seemed to tremble in anticipation.
Hummmm—!!
Blinding platinum energy gathered, forming a beam that shot into the heavens. Amidst the chaos, it condensed into the shape of a miniature sun—a chaotic, searing mass of light.
This was the true power of the [Divine Savior Blade]: the strongest weapon, capable of splitting stars.
No weapon in this world could compare to its destructive potential.
If this strike were unleashed, the planet itself likely wouldn't survive. The devastation would be absolute.
Yet Rama didn't seem worried in the slightest. His gaze, sharp as ever, found Artoria across the great distance between them.
Her expression was cold, resolute, and unyielding. There was no fear in her eyes, no panic in her stance—only steadfast determination.
For some reason, Rama felt a strange thought arise within him: She's not just going to survive this attack. She's going to defeat me.
His rational mind scoffed at the idea. Holding the platinum blade aloft, he knew better than anyone the devastating force it carried.
Yet, precisely because his rationality rejected it so vehemently… the prospect of it happening filled him with excitement.