Smith to the Small Gods: A Retired Legend Cozy LitRPG by Max Vale

Author:Max Vale [Vale, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The sun was already high by the time I woke again, and I groaned as an errant ray shone directly into my eyes the moment I opened them.

Calida appeared in my field of vision immediately as I scrubbed the sleep away. She seemed to be in fine form today as she bounced and bobbed as if she was dancing across the coals in the tray.

I wondered why it was that even though the hearth was always burning now the coals never seemed to diminish. Probably something to do with my patron’s divine presence.

“Morning, Calida.” I stretched, and my spine cracked pleasantly.

“Good morning, Orin!” There seemed to be something a bit mischievous about the goddess’ smile today, and she grinned at me when I cocked my head questioningly.

“Not that I mind it, but what has you in such a good mood?” I asked.

“You do,” she answered. “You sleep like an angel, you know?”

I blinked as I felt a bit of a blush creep over the tips of my ears, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel flattered, amused, or unnerved by the idea of someone watching me sleep.

“Do I now?” I asked.

“Yes!” Calida beckoned me over, and I stood to obey.

She wrapped her arms around me as soon as I was close enough for her to do so, and I tried to relax into her embrace instead of being awkward and stiff. I still wasn’t used to a god being so familiar with me.

“My first, most wonderful Chosen,” the deity murmured in my ear. “I am so proud of you and all you will do for this place.”

“Praise me for it after I’ve done the work,” I chuckled to her.

“As you wish!” The ember-filled woman released me with a giggle of her own. “I think breakfast is ready upstairs.”

Since I knew how early both Rhea and Horace liked to start, I didn’t doubt that there was food, but it would probably be cold by now. I hoped whoever cooked it wouldn’t be too offended that I was getting to it so late.

I climbed the stairs up to the main house in my bare feet, and the worn wood creaked slightly under my weight.

The smell of soup was stronger than I thought it would be when I arrived in Horace’s tiny kitchen. I noticed a cast-iron pot cooling on a hook that could pivot toward the fireplace.

Both the owner of the house and my old friend were absent, and I figured they had already gotten started with their tasks for the day. I would have to hurry to catch up.

A cloth with a checkered pattern was laying near the sink, so I took it and used it to remove the lid of the cooling soup. Inside, the liquid was thick and creamy, and smelled of onions and black pepper. I eagerly found a bowl to fill and took a spoonful to try a taste.

A blend of potatoes, onions, black pepper, and carrots melted on my tongue with a note of something that was either salted butter or cream.

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