The Huntsman of Red V2

Chapter 24 The Pride of Vale: Part 6

If hope is what gives strength, then let hope pave the way forward.

The situation in Mt. Glenn had escalated fast despite all manner of preparations being made for the inevitable clash with the Grimm. The walls were rebuilt and fortified to the best ability of the engineer corps, and even the civilians had begun actively donating their aid. It was nothing dangerous per say such as running supplies or holding mass putlocks, but the general somberness of Mt. Glenn was lifting.

If one looked from above, people were constantly milling around the dilapidated buildings and streets left barely usable after numerous attacks. Moving like worker ants, rubble was being shipped and cleared to be used as ammunition for barbaric catapult-like contraptions created on the spot by whatever materials the engineers had on hand. There would be no aid from Vale, so people did what they did best and adapted to use whatever they had on hand.

Mt. Glenn had become a hive of activity in a way not seen since the first settlers and vanguards of Huntsman and Huntresses had first founded the settlement. There was a distinct air of fragile expectation born from the presence of one Jaune Arc.

The boy had become something of a walking church constantly protected on all sides by his father and sisters, and a conglomerate of veteran Huntsman and Huntresses.

Anywhere Jaune visited literally brightened with an almost translucent dome of energy that surrounded the area and healed away injuries and fatigue.

It was miraculous, uplifting, and the boy always had the most sheepish smile on his face as if he felt embarrassed at all the attention. Said dome would only recede when Jaune rolled up the flag of the war banner, yet he never did so while walking down Mt. Glenn's streets. There were always people who needed healing or needed their spirits lifted under the banner of the war saint's warmth.

Even in a passive state, the war banner of the Saint was potent, far more than it should have been. There was quite a simple explanation for this that all magi inherently understood.

It was tied into abundancy and scarcity concepts.

In Shirou's world, True Magics were those unable to be replicated by anyone or anything. They were pure mysteries each belonging to their own categories and thereby possessing distinct identity, niches.

The strength of any magic is reduced based on the number of individuals able to replicate it. Think of a finite pool of water, this is the magic capacity belonging to a certain craft. Individually, one would have access to all the water, but each new person would divide the portions equally among themselves until eventually, the craft becomes obsolete, unable to even be called magecraft any longer.

This was the very reason for the secrecy of the moonlit world of his homeland. This was also the clearest explanation of why the users of True Magic, Sorcerers, were considered so powerful.

In regards to Remnant, magic users were virtually non-existent. This meant that should a magic user appear, or in this case, a weapon of magical nature such as a Noble Phantasm, it alone may draw from Remnant's pool of magic.

The Saint's war banner in Jaune's hands was directly being fueled in this manner, creating a constant passive effect.

The strange thing about Remnant though was that Shirou could tell by the Aura of its inhabitants that it had used to be a world of magic and mystery. Yet it was as if the gifts of magic had all been ripped away all at once, any and all knowledge on the ancient crafts forgotten, but he digressed.

Just because Remnant had forgotten of magic, didn't mean that it didn't exist. What was left of it had grown back to a sizable amount after millennia of disuse in the form of Dust and a thin layer of mana in the air.