HC: Handyman | Ch. 229 – Sandwiches

The last ant reared up, mandibles clicking, but Rob was faster.

Twin daggers flashed, sliding under its jaw and punching through the plates. The creature shuddered, legs folding before it collapsed in a heap.

Wave 48 clear!

The battle was finally over.

An hour of relentless fighting had left everyone breathing hard. Armor bore fresh dents, weapons were nicked, and exhaustion lined every face. Heat still rose off the heaps of white-furred corpses, and the crunch of broken shells followed every step.

“That was exhausting,” Rob said, rolling his shoulders.

“Tell me about it.” Marie gave a weary laugh. “I had to use everything I had. I’m down to—less than fifty grenades.”

Jack stayed quiet, biting back his thoughts.

Piri had lulled them into a false sense of security—seven waves of nothing but bosses and small elite squads—and then unleashed the largest horde yet. If they hadn’t been ready, if they didn’t have the Six Towers… He shivered.

And what about the next waves? Would they face this kind of onslaught from now on? Or would she throw even bosses and elites into the mix?

Piri’s playing with us.

Amari pushed himself upright and clapped his hands once. “Alright, everyone. We did well, all things considered, but we’ve got work to do. We need more supplies, rest, health, stamina—let’s head back.”

Jack glanced across the canyon floor, carpeted with at least two thousand ant corpses. Looting them now would mean no time for anything before the next wave. Esther could handle it.

As they crossed toward the fortress, Amari drifted closer. “That horn of yours,” he said, “it’s a powerful tool.”

“Yeah… it is.”

“You only have those two calls?”

“There are two more, but I need practice before I can pull them off.”

“Good. Make that a priority.” Amari’s grin came quick and easy. “Tell you what—don’t worry about food from now on. We’ll buy something from the marketplace.”

Jack hesitated. Cooking for the group was his job, and handing that over felt… wrong. But feeding forty mouths every two hours wasn’t easy, and a short break wouldn’t hurt. “Isn’t that… expensive?”

“Not if we buy low-durability stuff,” Amari said with a laugh. “It’s dirt cheap. No one else touches it—too risky for a real adventure. It’d fall apart in their inventories before they even made it out of the gates.”

Jack considered it. “Thanks. I could use the time.”

“No worries.” Amari waved toward the fortress gates. 

As the party reached the courtyard, the NPCs all but collapsed around the fire pits. Flames crackled, throwing warm light over tired faces and scuffed armor. Some sat with their heads bowed; others leaned back with eyes closed, letting the heat soak into them. A few soldiers methodically inspected their weapons, oiling hinges and tightening straps, while the One-Eyes tended to their goats—brushing out clumps of white fur or wiping down their blowguns.

Amari, Horace, Rob, and Marie made a beeline for the ptero-peddler. Pterry, the pterossaur, dozed with his head tucked under one wing while Molly kept watch over the stall, listening as the team discussed their orders.

Jack caught snatches of conversation as he passed.

“I need at least two hundred caltrops,” Horace said. “The trap field before the ditch needs a full reset.”

“I want… three thousand grenades,” Marie added, ticking them off on her fingers. “Give me a hundred gunpowder, twenty concussive.”

“My helmet’s shot,” Rob said, tapping the dented rim. “Almost out of durability.”

“We need to grab some sandwiches. Jack needs rest,” Amari said.

Jack was pretty sure Amari meant practice, not rest. Either way, he wasn’t going to argue.

He veered toward Esther, who stood with Christoff near the courtyard wall, her brow knit as she examined a crack in his armor.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, voice low.

Christoff smiled faintly. “I’ve had worse.”

“Oh, Chris. You have to be careful! Riku would hate to lose you.”

“I know, I know. I’m doing my best, Esther.”

Her fingers lingered on the dent in his armor before she nodded, a tear streaking her cheek.

Jack cleared his throat to announce himself and stepped up beside them. “Esther, I need you to handle the loot from the battlefield. There’s a lot, and I won’t have time to gather it myself. Can you do it for me?”

“I—” Her gaze flicked to Jack, then back to Christoff.

Christoff gave her a reassuring nod. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re certain…”

You’ve deposited the [Butcher] profession to Esther.

Reluctantly, she adjusted her pack and headed toward the gates. Jack watched her go before turning toward the back of the fortress.

The noise of chatter faded behind him, replaced by the buzz of bees and the softer hush of wind. The air beyond the courtyard felt cooler, touched by the faint sweetness of honey drifting from the hives.

With the sun climbing high over the fortress, the view from the wall felt like a welcome change from the gloom of the battlefield—a reminder that not every hour here was soaked in blood and dust. 

Jack pulled the shagrat horn from his inventory. It had a satisfying weight in his hands, the surface warm from storage. After using it several times during this last battle, it had only lost two durability points.

He smiled. It was a powerful feeling to sound the horn. If he could master one more overtone before the final waves, maybe—just maybe—it would make a difference.

This wasn’t his first time playing an overtone. Now that he understood the principle, playing more overtones wasn’t a mystery, and it should come a little easier and quicker. Or so he hoped.

He blew the fundamental note first. Then, he switched to the first overtone. He tightened his lips a little more and pushed with his diaphragm, shaping the airflow until the note leapt higher.

The horn shrieked, wild and sharp enough to make his ears ring, the sound rattling in his chest and echoing off the stone before spilling out into the canyon. Try again. Breath by breath, he forced the sound into control until it slid into the right note.

It finally did.

He wiped his mouth and glanced at the clock. He didn’t have long. Every minute counted now.

*

Jack crossed the courtyard and spotted Esther near the inner wall, arms folded behind her back as if she’d been waiting.

“Hi, Esther. How’d it go with looting duty?” he asked.

“Fine, sir. I’ve got some of it with me.” She tipped her head toward the corner of the courtyard. “The rest is over there.”

Jack followed her gesture and saw a mound of items neatly sorted on a tarp—spools stacked in one corner, armor laid in another, books in a tidy pile beside heaps of mandibles and shells.

“Nice job, Esther.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a small bow before opening a trade window.

[Esther wants to transfer loot to you.]

Jack accepted. The item list filled his view—ant mandibles, bug meat, chitin shells, and one item that caught his attention.

Yeti Chitin Thread (Uncommon)

A rare fiber spun by Yeti ants—giant, white-furred insects adapted to sub-arctic conditions. Resistant to fraying, immune to moisture damage, and capable of retaining tensile strength even in sub-zero conditions.

Durability: 68

“A fiber? Can I craft with this?”

He took a spool from his inventory and rolled it between his fingers. It gave just enough to bend, then snapped back with a faint, musical twang.

“I like it. Seems better than grass. I wonder how much she’s collected.”

He walked over to the pile and saw a set of tightly wound, white, faintly glossy spools. It was quite a lot. He was looking forward to crafting with it.

Jack skimmed through the other piles. He did armor first—cold-resistant plates with faint frost clinging to the seams, and leather stiffened and creaking from the chill. Nothing close to the quality of boss or elite drops, but all of these came with cold resistance. They would fetch a decent price in the market.

Next came the books. He flipped through them, reading the titles.

Frosthide Conditioning (Common)

Cold-adapted predators have been observed lying motionless for hours in wind-lashed drifts, their heart rate dropping to conserve energy. By studying their circulation control, we have devised a breathing and posture regimen that traps heat without impeding mobility. The resulting technique reinforces the body’s natural insulation against low temperatures.

Skill effect: Passive. +1 cold resistance.

Formic Strength (Common)

Ants demonstrate an exceptional muscle-to-mass ratio, aided by a locking joint structure in the legs and torque generated from the thorax. Through targeted resistance training, joint bracing, and stance correction, a human can approximate this leverage effect—boosting load-bearing capacity beyond normal limits.

Skill effect: Passive. +1 strength.

Acid Fang (Common)

Observation of the winter burrower ant reveals a combat behavior in which it channels formic acid along its mandibles just before striking. With proper breath control, weapon angle, and force timing, a human fighter can mimic the effect—delivering strikes that bypass protective layers and cause lingering corrosive damage.

Skill effect: Active. For 10 seconds, attacks deal +3 acid damage. 

Cooldown: 45 seconds.

There were eight books of [Frosthide Conditioning], six of [Formic Strength], and three of [Acid Fang]—all common-tier.

Jack learned the [Frosthide Conditioning] and [Formic Strength] right there on the spot. Heat pooled in his limbs as if he’d just finished a good stretch, and a subtle prickling settled across his skin, warding off the lingering chill in the air. More cold resistance and extra strength—small gains, but they’d add up.

The [Acid Fang] books he set aside—those would have to be rolled among the others.

He made sure he’d swept everything up and made one last stop in the well where he was aging mead. The cool, damp air carried the faint sweetness of fermenting honey. Eight batches had made it to level 4. He picked half of them up and left the other half in the well, aging.

By the time Jack reached the carriage, the air was already taut with purpose—metal clanking, voices low as strategies were murmured for the next wave.

Horace was out in front, tossing caltrops in wide arcs as if he were sowing seed in a field. Each scatter of metal spikes clinked against the packed dirt, catching the light as they tumbled.

Marie crouched beside the carriage, methodically arranging grenades and poison vials along her utility belt. A faint tang of oil and gunpowder lingered in the air as she murmured a quick count under her breath, slotting the last few into her inventory.

Rob stood nearby, arms folded, watching her work as if reloading grenades were the most beautiful thing in the world.

He spotted Jack and gave a sharp whistle. “Heads up!”

A sandwich arced through the air. Jack snagged it one-handed without breaking stride, the weight telling him it was packed with more than bread.

“Quick, before it spoils,” Rob said.

Jack unwrapped it and took a bite—the flavor hit like a reward after a long day. Salty, savory, and rich enough to make him want to slow down and savor it, even with a battle looming.

You’ve received [Aurox Salami Sandwich Buff].

Stamina is increased by 200;

Health is increased by 200;

+5 attack;

+5 defense;

+5 block.

This buff lasts one hour.

It was a nice, rounded-up buff. A warm pulse rippled through him as his health ticked up and his stamina bar filled out. “Oh, wow. This is… really good. How much did this cost?”

“Half a gold,” he said.

Jack blinked, glancing toward the forty mouths they had to feed. “You didn’t spend twenty gold on sandwiches, did you?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, waving a hand. “NPCs got something cheaper. The total came to about ten gold. But we need to be in top shape so we bought something better for us.”

“Fair,” Jack admitted.

Rob, still leaning near the carriage, turned his attention back to Marie as she checked the fit of a grenade pouch. She caught him staring and flashed him a quick, happy smile before returning to her work.

Jack caught the exchange from the corner of his eye. The familiarity between the two lovebirds was a small anchor in the tense, pre-battle quiet.

Amari strode up, brushing dust from his gloves. “Hey, Jack. Were you able to learn more calls?”

Jack scratched at the back of his head. “Almost. Just need a little more time.”

“We still have that stopwatch package Marie found—it can buy us thirty extra minutes of prep time for the last wave. That should give you the time you need.”

“Or,” Jack said with a shrug and a faint half-smile, “this wave will be horrible and we’ll lose now.”

“Well, think positive.” Amari’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, a hopeful light in his eyes. “We’re almost there. Almost at the end of the line.”

Jack could almost see the stars in his pupils—the man was already picturing the end of this monster of a quest, wrapping it into premium channel content. Around them, soldiers tightened straps, checked weapons, and braced themselves against the looming fight.

Horace came sprinting back to the carriage, armor clinking, dust kicking up with each stride, helmet sitting slightly askew.

“Hey, Horace!” Jack called out.

“What’s up?”

Jack opened his inventory and transferred the armor over. “Here’s some armor. In case any of the soldiers need it!”

“Good! A couple of them have complained about their gear being near breaking point. I’ll go take care of it.”

“Also…” Jack transferred a copy of [Frosthide Conditioning] and [Formic Strength] to each of them.

“Cool! Thanks, Jack!” Marie said.

“There’s something else.” He also copied the stack of skill books into the trade window. “I don’t need [Acid Fang]. There are four of you, and only three books, so…”

“I pass!” Horace shouted over his shoulder. “Give it to those with DPS.”

“Fair enough.” Jack transferred the skills over. A moment later, the sound of pages flipping and soft pings filled the air as each of them learned the technique.

Within moments, everyone was in position. Some of the soldiers now wore odd pieces of armor scavenged from the ants.

The air seemed to still, the faint clink of weapons the only sound as eyes turned toward the canyon. The field was set. The next wave was coming.

Ch. 228 – Augmenter

INDEX

Ch. 230 - 4v5