It was not within the yellow sands, yet it remained utterly deathly silent.
Demon Dragons danced through the skies, while Demonic Beasts wandered the ground.
Upon this desolate plain, devoid of even a trace of life, lay countless enormous craters like meteor impacts and numerous rocky ridges. Everywhere bore the scars of destruction; it was a completely barren land.
Anno stood at the boundary between the desert and the wasteland, staring at this land, unable to compose himself for a moment.
Anger, sorrow—yet he felt he had no right to possess such emotions.
He could feel familiarity. An overwhelming familiarity.
Whether it was the aura of Britain or that of subdragons, he knew them both all too well.
Suddenly, he seemed to sense something and looked in a certain direction.
Several miles away, there was an immense presence.
It was neither a subdragon nor any other Demonic Beast.
That aura belonged to a Phantasmal Species—that was to say, a dragon.
Not a subdragon, nor a wyvern, but a true dragon: enormous, four-legged, and winged.
"Have dragons of this caliber already appeared upon this land?"
Anno gripped the hilt at his waist.
An arm formed from Excalibur could unleash a Noble Phantasm without being affected by the drawbacks of Anno's Noble Phantasm. However, Anno, who had lacked his left arm from the very beginning, was essentially always in a weakened state. Though neither his means nor power of attack had been affected, his Spirit Origin was just as Merlin had said before.
Like a candle flame in the wind, it would probably be unable to endure even slightly greater damage.
Still, at least so far, Anno had not suffered a single injury.
The Sphinxes and subdragons had not even scratched his white armor.
But this dragon in the distance...
"There is