HC: Handyman | Ch. 220 - Goat Apnea

The courtyard had transformed—from a swarm of starving rioters into a daycare at nap time. One-Eyes and their goats were sprawled everywhere, snoring softly. Even Pterry was out cold.

Jack checked the clock between labored breaths. Only one hour left until the first event wave hit. And all he’d done so far was cook.

He stepped back for a moment, eyeing the setup that had allowed him to feed this crowd. Five fires. Five large cauldrons. Esther and Riku’s health. Tons of used ingredients. This was a full-blown field kitchen.

He wondered if this was what it felt like for Ariadne, commanding her large camp with multiple fires and pots while her gibbon tended to her patrons. He still had a ways to go, but for now, this felt like the start of his own little catering empire.

“There. That should be enough for…” Jack paused, glancing at the courtyard full of sleeping NPCs. His stomach sank. “Enough for two waves.”

At least it hadn’t been for nothing. His efforts had finally advanced a title that hadn’t budged in a long time.

[Experienced Firekeeper] has been upgraded to [Veteran Firekeeper]

Veteran Firekeeper (Rare)

The smell of fire and smoke lingers in your clothes. You know the flames, and they know you.

Title effects:

+5 fire resistance;

Tinderboxes degrade more slowly;

Fire deterrence greatly increased;

Fuel consumption reduced;

Fires grant +3 cold resistance for one hour.

Unlock Requirements:

Maintain multiple [Mid-Temperature Fires] simultaneously;

[Experienced Firekeeper];

Keep a [Mid-Temperature Fire] burning for 24 continuous hours.

The title upgrade couldn’t have come at a better time.

The fuel discount alone made a massive difference. With consumption down to about 80% of normal, he was basically getting one fire’s worth of heat for free. That kind of efficiency mattered when five fires were burning nonstop.

But the real prize was the cold resistance bonus.

Just standing near the flames granted +3 Cold Resistance for an hour. It meant he no longer had to run around slathering every ally with [Fat Coating]—a tedious process with so many to cover. Now, he could reserve that special treatment for his teammates.

And with the passive from the fires, the [Millennial Ice] package, and [Fat Coating]? His group would shrug off Tramontane’s freezing breath like it was a spring breeze.

With time running short, Jack got back to work. He tossed fat into one cauldron to render into oil, then added bones and water into the others for broth. He’d used up all his stock. This past hour had stretched him to his limit.

Thankfully, he wasn’t alone.

“Sir, is this enough water?” Esther asked, pouring a pot she’d filled at the spring into a vat.

“We’ll need more soon. Keep it coming, please. Thank you.”

She nodded, sparing a glance at a nearby sleeping One-Eye. The look she gave the little creature was practically adoring. Jack shook his head. How could anyone think those stubby little monsters were cute?

Maybe it was the full stomach, or being surrounded by “cuteness,” or just seeing the fortress bustling again—but Esther definitely seemed lighter. Happier.

Nearby, Riku arrived from another run to the well and carefully set down a few amphorae beside the rows of vinegar-filled pots. “That’s all, sir!”

“Good job, Riku!”

“Thanks! I bet I’m getting stronger than a bear with all this hauling,” he said, flexing an arm and nearly tipping sideways under the weight of his own bravado.

Jack chuckled. “Let’s not challenge one to an arm wrestle just yet. Could you transfer the vinegar from the amphorae into the pots now? Thank you.”

The mead Esther had made had already aged—most batches were at Tier I, and a few had reached Tier II. That meant he had vinegar to work with again, and he needed to replenish his stock of pickles before they ran out.

As Esther disappeared into the pass leading up to the spring, and Riku began pouring the contents of a failed mead batch into a smaller pot, Jack allowed himself a moment to smile.

Most of the recipes he used relied on synergies—things too complex to pass down to the NPCs. But even the simple help they could offer—hauling water, sorting ingredients—made a world of difference.

Building on Riku’s effort, Jack began adding vegetables and herbs to the vinegar pots, starting the next batch of pickling.

The scent of boiled marrow, woodsmoke, and vinegar lingered in the air. A gentle breeze nudged the hanging steam sideways. Somewhere nearby, a goat with apnea claimed the prize for loudest snorer.

While he worked, his teammates had gathered around Molly’s gondola. The discussion was lively as they debated what to buy from the market.

Each choice mattered. Even though his teammates had played longer than he had and had gold savings, they weren’t infinite. Not even close.

Just loading the towers with enough ammunition for a single wave cost twenty gold. That meant every coin spent had to stretch its weight in usefulness.

Jack had already put in his requests: herbs and mushrooms to spare them a trip into the woods, firewood to keep the cauldrons going, two fresh tinderboxes, forage for the goats, and most important of all—ten horns. He needed material to practice on before crafting his true project.

With a bit of free time, Jack pulled up his browser and dove into research for his blowing horn—specifically, mouthpieces.

The mouthpiece wasn’t just the part you blew into—it shaped the air column, controlled vibration, and determined the sharpness or mellowness of the sound. A bad mouthpiece could make a perfect horn sound like a sick goose.

Some horns used fitted metal mouthpieces, which made for a consistent tone and ease of use. Others had wooden pieces shaped to rest more naturally against the lips. Simpler designs were carved directly into the horn itself—filed and polished into a smooth cup or funnel shape. He took notes on each one.

Once he had the basics down, Jack’s curiosity took a turn—from technique to history. He started looking through artifacts and museum pieces.

Alpine horns, beautiful but absurdly long—some over ten feet.

Shofar, the traditional Jewish ram’s horn. No mouthpiece at all—just the raw, curved form of the horn, polished and hollowed.

Then came war horns—Celtic carnyxes with bronze dragon heads, Roman cornua curled like giant snail shells, and Norse horns decorated with etched knotwork and gilded ends.

Eventually, Jack narrowed in on Norse horns. They were made of cow horn and seemed the most similar in shape to the horn of the Shagrat boss.

He studied two examples of existing blowing horn artifacts.

One had bronze fittings at both ends and a finely inscribed mouthpiece ring. The carvings along the length were shallow but detailed: runes, vines, and the faint outline of a ship under full sail.

The second had a silver trim and a braided leather strap. Its mouthpiece had been shaped from bone and capped in copper.

Jack leaned back, fingers tapping the side of his cauldron. Too bad there weren’t recordings of what those horns had sounded like. He would’ve loved to hear how those add-ons affected the tone and resonance.

“Let’s go, Pterry!” Molly called out suddenly, rousing the pterossaurus from his gluttonous stupor. The beast groaned, then spread its wings and latched onto the gondola.

“I’ll be back soon!” she shouted as the gondola lifted off the ground and vanished into the sky.

In her place was a stack of supplies. The most prominent was the pile of firewood.

Amari jogged over, waving. “Hey, Jack. Here you go.”

AmariNinja has transferred to you 2x [Tinder Box], 10x [Rhinoceros Horn], 100x [Mountain Sorrel] and 100x [White Mushroom], 200x [Dry Grass].

“Thanks, Amari.”

“No problem,” he said.

Jack glanced toward the battlements. Rob and Horace were already up there, moving from tower to tower—loading them with the freshly purchased ammo.

He checked the clock and stood up. It was time to get ready for the first of Piri’s nightmarish waves.

The courtyard stirred back to life as Jack started his second round of cooking. Cauldrons bubbled with rich broth, their aromas cutting through the lingering cold. One by one, the One-Eyes lined up—groggy, but hungry. He handed out meals, each bowl steaming with warmth and layered buffs.

The best dishes, made from the premium cuts of marmoset boss meat and carefully timed synergies, he reserved for his team. The rest went to the others—stews good enough to bolster them for what was coming.

By the time the last bowl was served, a quiet tension had settled over the camp.

Jack glanced at his teammates. No words were needed. Just a look. They all knew what time it was.

They moved as one, passing through the gate of the newly upgraded wall. The NPCs followed.

Forty fighters in single file.

Heading toward the front line.

Once they reached the ditch, Amari took charge, his voice steady and clear above the murmurs of the gathered fighters.

“Marie, you’ll coordinate our ranged unit—yourself, Christoff, and the dartblowers. I want you up front. Focus on dealing as much ranged damage as possible. Retreat if things get dicey and cover our fallback.”

She gave a crisp nod.

“Horace, you’re in charge of the infantry. When the enemy hits the ditch, I want each of your men guarding a ranged NPC. Your job is to hold the line and push anything that tries to climb the ditch back down.”

“Understood.”

“Rob, you’ll lead the cavalry.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even have a horse.”

Amari smirked. “You don’t need one. You can outrun the goats on two legs. Cavalry’s only to be deployed if conditions are right. Otherwise, stay in reserve.”

Rob gave a thumbs-up.

Jack raised a hand. “And me?”

“You do your own thing,” Amari said. “Hold on to your sleep, confusion, and staggering debuffs. I’ll give the order when we need it. That work?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

Rob and Amari took a moment to sharpen their blades, activating the crit boost from the whetstone Aid Package. Nearby, Horace was deep in discussion with his infantry, checking spacing and formations, while Marie briefed her unit on fire zones and target priorities.

Jack already had the ocarina in hand, thumb brushing over the polished finger holes.

A notification blinked across his vision.

Wave 41 comes. Beware.

The wind picked up from behind them, rushing down the canyon in a sudden gust.

Jack took a long, steady breath.

It was time to see what Piri had cooked up.

All eyes were fixed on the dandelion tree, its delicate bloom swaying in the biting wind. Most remained silent, except for the One-Eyes, who exchanged soft chirps—barely enough to fill the silence. Jack swallowed hard.

It was too quiet.

So far, there had always been a sound after the wave announcement.

Skittering with the roaches.

Rumbling with the shagrats.

Screams with the marmosets.

But this time… nothing. What did that mean? The answer came too fast.

Ten shapes burst from the tree line—huge, silent, and fast.

They moved with terrifying speed, padded feet thudding softly against the ground as they charged forward in eerie quiet. Their thick coats shimmered with frost. They ran without hesitation, their thick fur shrugging off Tramontane’s icy aura as if it weren’t even there.

They sprinted past the dandelion tree.

Amari gasped. “It’s ten sabertooth tigers! All elites! Rob! Charge the five on the right!”

“Already?” Rob asked, blinking. Just moments ago, Amari had made it sound like they were backup, not the front line.

“Buy us time! Hold them off. Ranged unit, focus fire—one target at a time! Careful not to hit the cavalry! Horace, hold anything that slips through!”

“CHARGE!” Rob bellowed.

He leapt across the canyon in a single, fluid motion, rogue agility bending physics to his will. The goat knights followed, their mounts bounding effortlessly behind him, hooves striking stone.

On the left flank, Marie’s bombs arced through the air. Explosions flashed across the snow as she targeted the lead tiger. Christoff and the dartblowers opened fire, needles of bone and arrows of steel peppering their mark. The beast roared—a deep, guttural snarl—but didn’t slow. Another salvo landed. Then another. Finally, with a stumbling collapse, the first tiger went down. They pivoted to the next without hesitation.

Everyone had known this wave would be hard, but ten elites at once?

Jack had to act. There was a melody that might be perfect for this moment—one he’d practiced until his fingers ached.

He raised the ocarina and blew.

The first notes of Into the Breach burst forth. His fingers danced, guided by instinct and muscle memory. The final phrase rang out, crisp and bold, just as the cavalry was about to make contact with the five charging tigers.

He couldn’t stop the charge, but maybe, just maybe, he could tip the scale.

Ch. 219 - 71 points

INDEX

Ch. 221 - Knocked Back