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HC: Handyman | Ch. 193 - Focus
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 13:43:38 +0000 UTCThe plan was simple: level up [Bone Carving] as much as possible.
If it worked anything like [Rope Weaving], then each level would unlock new recipes. Right now, it was the smartest investment he could make.
The price for the first upgrade was 20,000 XP.
No problem. Jack had been spamming his Clay Dome and vase combo every time he harvested a carcass. After thousands of them, he was sitting on more XP than he knew what to do with.
[Bone Carving] has been upgraded.
A stream of messages followed, listing new recipes, but Jack barely glanced at them. He didn’t have time to read. Not now. He kept hammering the upgrade button.
The XP cost climbed fast, each level steeper than the last. Still, he pushed through, clicking with mechanical focus until pop-ups clogged his vision and he couldn’t even see the room around him.
Finally, he hit the cap: [Bone Carving] Level 8.
His entire Butchering XP pool—gone in seconds.
He closed the menus and turned to leave Jumbo’s office.
Horace was waiting, foot tapping.
“I’m done here,” Jack said.
“Good. Let’s get this over with.”
They stepped back into the night, the chill air hitting like a slap after the warehouse heat. The main road was alive with motion—players streamed toward the city gates in a constant, shifting tide. But Jack and Horace weren’t headed that far.
Their destination was just before the gate: the food market.
It greeted them with a warm, savory haze. Braziers flared along the walkway, casting gold light on rows of vendors shouting over one another, stirring pots, flipping skewers, and carving fresh cuts for long lines of players.
“Now,” Horace said, surveying the stalls, “we get a proper meal. I’m willing to bet the IronIre crew camping your cousin won’t bother. It’s too expensive to keep coming back here for buffs—especially when your target respawns with none.”
Jack nodded. “So this’ll be our edge.”
“Our biggest one,” Horace said. “It’s how we close the gap in stats.”
Jack was already eyeing a vendor selling glazed roast bird over wild rice. “Alright.”
“Get ready to spend, Jack. We’ll need the best buffs money can buy.”
Jack grunted. “Got it.”
Horace sighed.
Jack glanced at him and caught the hesitation. His stomach twisted. Horace made a living in this game, too. They’d both spent more than they could afford back at the market—and now this.
Jack drew a breath. “Hey, Horace.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t worry about the money, okay? I’ll cover your expenses for this run later. I don’t have enough on me right now, but—”
Horace laughed, shaking his head. “Easy, man. You don’t owe me anything. I still owe Rob one, remember? I like paying off my debts.”
Jack smiled. “Whatever. I still owe you.”
Horace waved him off and continued. “You’re looking for anything that shortens skill channeling times or boosts Focus—that’s the attribute that helps prevent skill interruption.”
“What will you get?”
“Boosts to speed and CC.”
“Not defense? Or HP?”
Horace tapped the brim of his hat. “Why would I need that? Doesn’t this make me immortal?”
Jack raised a brow. “Hardly.”
“Just check with me before you buy anything.”
“No problem.”
“I know you’re a big boy now,” Horace said, mock-serious. “But a second opinion never hurts.”
Jack chuckled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t take it the wrong way.”
“Our Jackie boy’s grown up since we met.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing. See you in a moment.”
Jack adjusted the brim of his straw hat, lowering it just in case any of IronIre’s spies were lurking in the crowd. Unlikely, he figured. As far as IronIre knew, he was still holed up in a private workshop at the Pottery Association.
He grinned to himself, thinking back to when he’d mouthed off to their crew.
I wonder how One-Eye Hog is doing. I hope he’s enjoying the most tedious stakeout of his life.
Jack stepped forward, scanning the food stalls for the right meal.
*
Og leaned against the wall inside the Pottery Association, arms crossed, eyes locked on the private workshop doors like a hawk watching a rabbit hole.
He hated that kid.
The memory of Jack’s smug little voice played on a loop in his head—mocking, taunting, acting like he owned the place. The only thing keeping Og from losing it completely was the sheer rage—a low, steady burn that kept him sharp.
He’d been waiting here all day.
Not a peep. Not a glimpse.
How long am I supposed to sit here? he thought. Then scowled. Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait as long as it takes.
Eventually, Jack would have to come out. And when he did, Og would be there—ready to camp him into level zero, again and again, until that arrogant smirk turned into tears.
The thought made his fingers twitch.
The workshop door creaked open.
Og snapped upright, adrenaline spiking.
A woman stepped out, wiping clay from her hands.
Og slumped back with a groan, dragging a hand down his face.
Just how long are you going to hide in there, kid?
He narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Just you wait, you punk.”
*
Vendors shouted over one another—some boasting flashy discounts, others letting the scent of their cooking do the talking. Despite having eaten breakfast before logging in, the air was thick with temptation: sizzling meats, roasted roots, and the sweet warmth of caramel.
As he browsed the menus, Jack noticed something surprising. Some of these meals weren’t far off from the stews he made himself. When he took the time to prep ingredients properly—and used cuts from elites or boss creatures—his dishes could even surpass what the lower-end chefs were offering here. Maybe Amari was right. He really was at the level of a beginner chef.
He started near the outer edge of the market, where he usually bought meals. Cheap, practical dishes served in earthen bowls from stalls that looked like they might collapse if someone leaned too hard on the counter. Normally, that was good enough.
But not today.
Today, he needed more than a full stomach. He needed an edge. If he was going to take on players twenty levels above him and walk away, a no-frills stew wasn’t going to cut it.
He headed toward the city wall, where the high-end stalls gathered. The shacks gave way to repurposed carriages and elegant kitchens-on-wheels, decked out in bright awnings and polished signs. Some even had shade tents with NPC waitstaff tending seated diners.
With each step, the prices rose—but so did the quality.
Then he saw it.
A modest booth, tucked between two over-the-top setups, stood out. The chef wore crisp white linens and a thick fur-lined collar. Jack stepped closer, eyes flicking up to the floating menu.
And there it was—something that just might work.
Glacierhorn Shank with Emberberry Glaze (Rare)
Thick shank cut from a young glacierhorn slow-roasted over charcoal and basted with emberberry glaze. Served with frostleaf greens and peppered root crisps.
Item effects:
+10 focus
+8 attack
+20% cold resistance
+90 HP
+450 stamina
Warming Core: reduces stamina drain in cold environments.
Fiery Stomach: 10% of your attack is converted to fire damage.
Duration: 3 hours
Price: 15 gold
Jack whistled under his breath. Pricey—but it boosted Focus.
He messaged Horace: “Hey, what do you think? Is this good enough?”
The reply came after a minute: “Not really, Jack. The Focus bonus is good, but you also need skill channeling speed. The faster you channel [Retreat], the faster we’re out. The shorter the battle, the better our chances. You take too long, we get swarmed. We lose.”
Jack swallowed. That made sense. Too much sense.
He kept looking—deeper into the upper-end stalls. The prices climbed with every step, each one making his palms sweat a little more. Finally, he spotted a setup that looked promising.
It was one of the premium dining tents near the back, tucked under a deep red canopy. The chef, a slender man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a pristine apron, worked behind a gleaming stovetop, plating dishes with calm, efficient precision. An NPC waiter in a crisp uniform stood nearby, greeting diners with perfect posture and a well-rehearsed smile.
Jack stepped closer and checked the floating menu. Among the dishes, one caught his eye—one that just might be worth the hit to his coin pouch.
Charred Troodon Thigh with Emberfruit Reduction (Epic)
A thick cut of Troodon thigh, marinated in crushed emberfruit and smoked salt, then flame-seared over a wood-fed iron grill. Served alongside firegrit mash and crispy roasted burdock skins.
Item effects:
+16 focus
+12 intelligence
+360 HP;
+620 stamina
Troodonic Swiftness – Skill channels complete 20% faster (30% if the skill takes longer than 30 seconds to channel)
Troodo-over – Negates the first skill interruption that would otherwise land
Duration: 6 hours
Price: 49 gold
Jack messaged Horace again, this time with a screenshot.
Just as he feared, the thumbs-up came back almost instantly.
Sighing, Jack approached the stall—though calling it a stall didn’t do it justice. This was a full-on restaurant.
“Table for how many, sir?” the waiter asked with a polished smile.
“Just me.”
“Please, take your seat.”
The waiter pulled out a chair with a flourish and, with a dramatic snap, unfurled a cloth napkin that he gently laid across Jack’s lap.
“Have you decided what you’ll have?” the waiter asked.
“Yes. I’ll take the charred Troodon thigh.”
“Excellent choice, sir.”
Moments later, the waiter returned carrying a tall glass jar filled with sliced blue lemons floating in crystal-clear water. He placed it on the table and poured a glass.
“While you wait, sir.”
“T-thanks.” Jack blinked. He’d never seen anything like it.
He took a cautious sip—then quickly gulped down the rest. The drink hit his tongue with a sharp citrus bite, electric and bright, like biting into lightning wrapped in sugar. It fizzed subtly at the back of his throat, leaving behind a cool, almost minty tingle that made his eyes widen.
You’ve consumed [Thunder Lemonade]. Stamina and HP fully restored.
Jack stared at the glass. He’s serving this to everyone? For free?
These chefs really were in another league.
As he set the glass down, Jack glanced around the tent. High-level players filled every table, their gear ornate, their expressions grim and focused. Most seats were already taken.
That’s a good sign, Jack thought. This place must be worth it.
He felt out of place—easily the most undergeared person in the room. Compared to them, he was a weak noob, pretending he belonged.
He tapped his foot as he waited, anxiety coiling tighter in his gut. What if the players camping Rob were as strong as these diners? What chance did they have?
He double-checked his inventory—everything Amari had listed was there. Rob had already messaged back, standing by to log in the moment Jack gave the signal.
I wonder if we’ll make it, Jack thought. If IronIre traps us again, what then? What about Horace? What about me?
Jack had poured hours into this character—his real-world income now depended on it. A selfish, scared voice whispered from the back of his mind: Walk away. Cut your losses. Let them fend for themselves.
But Jack shook the thought off.
I wouldn’t even have this job if it weren’t for Rob. And Horace is doing us a favor. No way I’m backing off.
Finally, the waiter returned with a covered silver platter. With a theatrical flourish, he lifted the lid.
“Your meal is served.”
A wave of rich, smoky aroma hit Jack immediately, like campfire-grilled steak glazed with sweet wine and spices. His stomach growled.
Jack picked up his fork and took a bite.
The meat was perfectly charred on the outside, fork-tender within. The glaze was sweet and sticky at first, but it gave way to something deeper—peppery, earthy, with just a hint of bitterness that grounded the whole dish. Each bite lingered like the warmth of a good stew after hours in the cold.
He felt warm ripples running through his limbs.
“Wow. Delicious!”
You have consumed: [Charred Troodon Thigh with Emberfruit Reduction].
Jack exhaled in relief and nodded to himself.
This’ll do. It has to.
