HC: Handyman | Ch. 227 – A New Family? 

Jack sat by the fire, sanding the shagrat horn with slow, careful strokes. The black bone was tougher than anything he’d worked with before, but he’d been making good progress—layer by layer, grit by grit.

Nearby, Riku’s voice joined the soft rasp of stone against bone.

“What’s it like to be on the frontlines, Chris?”

Chris? Jack paused mid-scrape. Since when did Riku start calling Christoff Chris? He slowed his work, ears turning slightly toward the conversation.

The stoic archer chuckled, voice low but warm. “It’s terrifying… but also kind of thrilling.”

“What kind of monsters do you fight? What are they like?”

Christoff glanced toward Esther, who was stirring a pot of mead nearby. “I-I don’t know if…”

The boy’s mom caught the look. “Riku, don’t pester Mister Christoff. He needs to rest before the monsters come back. His bow has been fundamental in keeping us all safe—he needs his strength.”

Riku threw up his hands, pouting. “Aw, come on, Ma. First, you won’t let me fight, and now I can’t even hear about what’s going on? Chris isn’t tired anyway, are you, Chris?”

Esther looked to Christoff, eyebrows raised.

“It’s fine,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure, Mister Christoff?”

“Just Christoff. Or Chris. And yeah—it's fine.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her hands on her apron. “Okay then… Chris.”

Oh my goodness! Is she blushing? 

“After the dire wolf came a pack of inostrancevia. All male. All massive,” Christoff said, his voice lowering. “You don’t see that. Not ever. Each of them is supposed to rule its own range—territorial, solitary. Put two in a field and they’ll fight to the death. But we saw twenty, running together like hounds on a hunt.”

He shook his head. “It was like nature itself was breaking its own rules. Like something deeper—older—had called them. And they answered.”

“What did they look like?” Riku asked, leaning in.

“Like saber-toothed lions crossed with an armored rhino. Their backs were ridged like plated bone, and their jaws had pointy teeth. Their eyes burned like coals.”

“Woah…”

“But the Six Towers did their job,” Christoff continued. “They cut the whole pack down.”

“I actually haven’t seen them working yet,” he said, throwing an upset look at his mother.

“Your mother is just trying to protect you, lad. But let me tell you. They’re incredible. The Star Towers? They throw arrows faster than any man. Like shooting stars raining from heaven. And the Moon Towers? They spit iron javelins with such force that they leave craters on the ground like those on the moon.”

“They’re so cool! Who built them?”

“Our ancestors,” Christoff said with quiet pride. “Brilliant craftsmen. The six towers guarded this fortress for centuries. Too bad they weren’t ready when the first beast wave hit.”

Jack, still working the inside of the horn, tapped his foot. Interesting, he thought. In their minds, the turrets have always been there. Rewritten memories, adapting to the world as we change it. Isn’t that something?

“And didn’t you fight too?” Riku asked. “You must’ve taken down a few.”

Christoff scratched the back of his head. “Well… I helped, sure, but honestly, the towers did most of the work.”

“Oh, Chris,” Esther said from the side, stirring her pot with a soft smile, “you’re far too modest.”

Christoff rubbed his neck, clearly flustered. “I—I mean, I got a few shots in.”

“What about the other two towers? The ones in the middle? Didn’t we use those yet?”

Christoff grew serious. “Yes. Only an hour ago. The last creature forced our hand.”

“What was it?” Riku asked.

“It was a Haast’s Terrorwing,” Christoff said, voice low. “A giant eagle—ancient and savage. Wings like sails. Feathers like black iron. Claws that could lift a horse.”

Jack looked up slightly, his fingers stilling.

“We shot arrows, grenades, javelins, blow darts. The Star Towers, the Moon Towers—they emptied nearly everything they had. And still, it almost reached the gate.”

Jack winced. It did. Despite everything, the beast had made it past the third ditch. If Amari hadn’t decided to activate the turrets from the start… He shuddered, unwilling to finish that thought.

“But then the Sun Towers came to life,” Christoff said, eyes beaming. “Tongues of fire—like the breath of the sun itself. They burned it mid-air. Look here. There’s still soot on my armor!”

Riku sniffed. “Wait! That’s why it smells like chicken!”

He spun toward Jack, eyes wide and hopeful. “Mister Jack! Are we having chicken stew?”

Jack snorted and shook his head. “What do you think this is, a drive-through? You don’t get to place orders.”

Riku blinked. “Drive through?”

Oh, right. No drive-throughs in New Earth, Jack thought.

“Tell you what, boy—once this is all done, I’ll take you hunting. We’ll go for fowls. Even better than chicken.”

“Mom, can I?”

Esther smiled. “Of course, son.”

Christoff glanced at her, then added, “And Esther… you should come too. Wouldn’t be the same without you.”

She laughed—a soft, almost musical sound. The first laugh Jack had ever heard from her.

“T-that’s a deal then. Thank you.”

The trio kept chatting. Christoff had been more talkative lately—especially with Riku. Esther, too, seemed softer around the edges, her wary silence replaced with calm attentiveness.

Jack turned the horn in his hands, studying the smooth curve along its length.

A little more time, he thought, and those three are going to make a beautiful family.

Not that there was much time left. Only three waves remained in this nightmarish challenge, and the last one had rattled everyone’s confidence. Up until then, most had believed they'd make it through thanks to the Six Towers and Tramontane without much trouble. But then came that cursed eagle.

If wave fifty brought another flyer, one even stronger than the last, with the bulk to soak up the Sun Towers’ fire, then they’d be in real trouble.

They needed more damage output—plain and simple. And right now, the blowing horn was their best bet.

So, he worked.

The shagrat’s black horn was brutally tough—denser than any material he’d handled before. The sandstone in his hand shattered as it lost all of its durability. Sighing, he grabbed a new one from his inventory and kept sanding the horn. 

He was almost there.

He’d started by sawing off the sharp tip, then bored open the narrow end to carve a proper air channel. Once hollowed, he’d scrubbed and scraped the interior clean, sanding away every trace of marrow and scent.

The outer shell was much easier to work with. The horn was smooth on the outside from the start, and all he had to do was polish it further.

Now, with wave forty-eight about to arrive, he gave the body a final pass with the sandstone.

And… done.

Jack leaned back and flexed his fingers. The instrument still looked plain, but it was finished.

He turned it once more in his hands, considering the carvings he’d drafted. He’d had the horn for a while now, and he’d spent hours picturing how to carve it. 

Inscribing the pattern now would raise its grade, give it a bit more power… but no. Not yet. There was no point in improving it if he couldn’t fully use it. He still hadn’t learned all the horn calls.

He should at least find out what they did. They might prove critical in the waves to come. He’d practice playing them with this for now. Once he had a better grasp of the instrument, he’d carve the design and make it even better.

But, for now, it would be used as is.

He observed the work he’d done. The horn was a little shorter than it’d been due to how he’d cut it at both ends. The crisscrossing veins of red and violet became even more pronounced after he’d sanded, giving it a beautiful marbled pattern.

He set the horn down beside him and waited for the system to evaluate its crafting grade.

Congratulations! You’ve crafted [Shagrat Obsidian Horn].

Crafting Grade: C+

+15,000 XP in Butcher

+15,000 XP in Bard

Shagrat Obsidian Horn (Uncommon)

A horn of a horned shagrat that was polished, cleaned, and turned into an instrument.

Durability: 93

Overtones: 2

Innovating Pioneer: +1 overtone.

Rodent Fortitude: Every first call in a battle grants a shield of 10% HP around your allies.

Jack nodded in approval. It had excellent durability, which was particularly important given how quickly horns lost their durability when used. More importantly, it had just enough overtones for him to play all the calls available.

The real prize, though, was the passive. An HP shield would give everyone some breathing room at the start of each fight—enough to give him time to stack offensive buffs before needing to worry about healing recovery.

And the timing couldn’t have been better.

Wave forty-eight was just about to hit.

Jack stood and dusted off his hands, heading toward the cooking pot. He had to make chicken—no, just food. Something hearty and hot to keep everyone going.

These were the last three waves. They’d have to give it everything they had.

The horn was ready. So was he.

*

The wind scraped through the canyon—cold, sharp, and merciless. The troops were back on the first line of defense.

Horace took pride in that no wave had broken through it yet—unless you counted flying over it, which he didn’t. According to him, that was cheating.

“I see you’ve got a nice new toy,” the tall warrior said, nodding toward the horn in Jack’s hand. “What does it do exactly?”

“Same as always,” Jack replied. “Saves your hide.” He gestured toward the rows of javelins piled beside each soldier. “And I see you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” Horace said quietly. “If another flyer shows up, we’re toast. Thought I’d better stock the soldiers up with more javelins.”

Jack didn’t say anything, but he nodded. He was worried too.

The chatter started to fade. Boots shifted. Hands tightened around weapons.

Down the canyon, the tramontane wind began to turn, the air growing heavier, colder. 

Then the system message came.

Wave 48 comes. Beware.

The tramontane howled down the canyon, battering the narrow pass with gusts of wind and ice. It dared the enemy forward—one final warning before the storm broke.

But something else rose to meet it.

A sound rose to meet it, like dry leaves dragged across stone. It multiplied quickly, a tide of motion and friction. It drowned the bleating goats, swallowed the murmurs of men, and finally, overtook the wind itself.

It was a sound he hadn’t heard for over thirty waves.

Skittering.

The wave crashed, erupting from behind the great dandelion tree that stood twisted and firm in the canyon’s narrow throat. 

The turrets opened fire at once—arrows and javelins rained down, striking bug after bug before they could pass. The choke-point became a kill zone. White-furred bodies fell in heaps at its base, twitching and curling.

But the wave didn’t stop.

They came faster. More poured in from behind, crawling over the dead, scaling the bark of the tree, clambering up the canyon walls and across the ceiling like living rivers.

Jack finally got a good look at them. Ants. Huge ones.

Each was coated in thick, ghost-white fur. From a distance, they looked almost like yaks—if yaks had too many legs, long antennae, and a single-minded hunger.

Despite the cold, they showed no hesitation. The tramontane continued to lash them with freezing wind, but they didn’t slow. 

The turrets fired relentlessly, holding the front line—for now. But Jack could already see it: the tide would win. These weren’t beasts meant to break the wall with strength.

They were meant to drown it.

Ch. 226 – Calls

INDEX

Ch. 228 – Augmenter