Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Chapter 3:
The town elder, the first to address Byakuran when he descended to earth, shuffled into the town hall, the one-story building the angel had taken for his own residence. The old man approached the lounging figure on the bed set in the room's center.
Being part of a simple people who just managed to get by, the old man had to suppress a sigh. Looking at the assortment of food spread out on the long table placed directly before the bed, he could only see it as frivolous and wasteful. Here was gathered enough meat and vegetables to feed a family for a month, two if they were properly rationed, and yet by the end of the day, the angel would have consumed it all. The white-haired entity ate everything, and disposed of nothing. The old man supposed they should have counted themselves lucky, since the angel wasn't picky about what was offered to him, and the people didn't have to go out of their way to prepare delicacies for which they had neither the ingredients nor the knowledge to make. In fact, he didn't think that it would even be inaccurate to say that the angel enjoyed everything, particularly if he had never eaten it before—which, unfortunately, also turned out to be everything.
Silently, he waited for the angel to notice him, all the while watching food disappear from the table with incredible speed.
Byakuran picked up a slice of bread from the table. Smearing a berry spread onto it, he bit in, savoring the taste. Shortly after his arrival, he had been delighted to discover the various flavors and textures that characterized food—moist bread, succulent berries, savory meat stripped from the bones of animals, tubers pulled from the ground—he had yet to tire of sampling it all. Among the greens gathered by the townspeople from their gardens or foraged from the forest, there were both bitter plants and sweet ones. The majority of the meat came in only three varieties—dried, smoked, and salted to keep it from spoiling—but no complaint was made, for he tasted.
He wondered how he could have been deprived of this experience for so long. How did he live without food and drink?
Of course, in what he considered his previous life, he hadn't needed sustenance—still didn't, as far as he could tell—but all these flavors and textures coming to life inside his mouth assured him that he had made the correct choice in coming to the mortal realm. He felt sorry for those poor saps back above, still scurrying around in perpetual boredom, doomed to never experience any true fun.
Speaking of fun, he needed to find something new to occupy his time. With only the few forms of entertainment available to him in the small town, the novelty of being amongst mortals was beginning to wear off.
He had chosen this time for its simplicity of life, where the rule for survival was still to kill or be killed. The killing that occurred was also more personal, requiring more effort than the weapons developed later in the earth's history—or so he'd thought. But so far, there had been no battles, no bloodbaths to sate his thirst for excitement. It was the only thing about his time here that had turned out to be a disappointment.
He could feel that familiar ache crawling back into his bones and pervading his flesh. He needed something new to keep it at bay.
"Aelgar," Byakuran called out upon seeing the old man in the room.
"My king." An awkward bow was performed before the self-proclaimed ruler.
"I'm bored," he informed the elder.
Panic seized the old man's heart at the words and his weathered face creased with worry. The last time those very words had been uttered had only been two weeks prior. They were still cleaning up the debris from the building that had exploded without explanation, raining fire-blackened mud and timber over the town. Of course, just because they didn't know how it had happened didn't mean they didn't know who had caused it. They were just glad that nobody had been inside at the time.
Desperately, Aelgar wracked his brain for an idea that would please Byakuran.
Before he could formulate a plan to abate the ruler's monotony, the ringing of a bell could be heard from outside, followed by a loud commotion moving closer to their location. A moment later, a young boy burst into the dwelling.
"They're coming," the boy exclaimed.
The elder nodded grimly before turning back to the angel. "I must apologize, my king, but an urgent matter has arisen. Our meeting will have to be postponed."
"What is happening?" Byakuran asked curiously.
"The raiders are coming."
"Raiders?"
"Yes. Several times a year, a certain tribe will come to our village and raid the town for supplies."
"And you fight them off," Byakuran finished, half-rising from his position in excitement.
"No… A few years ago, we offered to provide them with what they needed whenever they came in exchange for leaving our village in peace."
"Oh," Byakuran slouched back down in clear disappointment. "Why don't you simply destroy them?"
"How would we do that?" Aelgar asked in a weary tone. "The people in this village are peaceful. We're farmers at heart, not warriors. The only things these men have killed are chickens and swine."
"I've killed a goat," interjected the messenger. "It was the family goat, and she was old, so—"
"That's enough," Aelgar told the boy. When the child quieted, the elder addressed the seated figure. "We can't afford any trouble with these men. The peace of this village and our livelihoods depend on it."
"Fine." Byakuran leaned back upon the bed. His features were set in a frown and his arms crossed—the very image of a petulant child. "Bring me more food while you're away," he ordered as the two villagers turned to go.
"More food? But you still have—" the child was silenced by a stern glare from the village head and quickly retreated through the door. Aelgar turned his glance to the full table and suppressed a sigh. On the inside, he couldn't help but agree with the boy's unspoken words.
"If you'll excuse me, King Byakuran. I must go meet the tribesmen."
The ruler dismissed him with a flutter of his hand.
From the moment of Byakuran's arrival on earth, the angel had basked in the townspeople's unwavering adulation. However, as time wore on, and the villagers were forced to wait on him hand and foot, catering to his every whim day and night in addition to their own responsibilities, some began to wonder as to his true purpose.
A group of villagers had gathered in the street for a chat after a long day in the fields. It began as a typical talk about work, the wife and kids, but as was the norm lately, their conversation quickly turned to the angel.
"I thought angels were spirits of good, yet this one has not brought us prosperity. He only sleeps, eats, and plays as if he were a child," one man whispered to his friends.
"I thought he could help solve our problems, not create more of them," the man's wife added.
"Perhaps he is a fallen angel," another suggested.
The other three made sounds of agreement at this conjecture, thinking the angel being cast out of heaven was likely the reason for their own misfortune. The wife was about to say more, but was immediately hushed as her husband made a motion behind her, where their harried leader could be seen walking down the street.
The group greeted their appointed elder politely as he passed them, no doubt coming back from serving the subject of their discussion. Pitying eyes followed his progress, noting—not for the first time—the hunched back and drawn shoulders that had deepened over the past month. None of them envied the man his duties. They were just about to renew their discussion when he suddenly turned back to them.
Aelgar indicated for the sole woman in the group to come closer.
"Yes?" she inquired apprehensively.
"Our king has new orders." The old man then directed her to carry out the demands placed upon him by Byakuran, telling the nearby men to help her if it was needed.
The fear was prominent in their eyes as they hastened to fulfill their tasks. They may have only been humble villagers, but even they knew that it was in their best interests to cater to the being's whims, however absurd they may have seemed.
Watching his friends' panicked strides, Aelgar could only shake his head sadly.
This newcomer, while he maintained a playful and lighthearted demeanor for the majority of the time, could also be quick to anger. Once already, they had discovered the cruelty behind those pale eyes. Seven families had had their homes destroyed, and were now forced to move in with their neighbors until they could construct new houses. The town hall could have easily accommodated the families, since it was designed to fit a large number of people during town meetings; however, the stranger himself seemed oddly keen on staying in their village, and had demanded the largest building for his personal usage. Of course, no one dared to argue. Therefore, most of the displaced townspeople were lodged in the extremely hazardous topmost floors of the timber and mud brick buildings that accounted for their modest town.
Recalling with some urgency that he was needed elsewhere, the old man resumed walking.
As Aelgar reached the village entrance, one of the townspeople hurried up to him. It was a middle-aged man with worry plastered across his face.
"They're too early, Aelgar. They normally wait until the climate grows colder to get supplies for the winter."
"It can't be helped. We must give them what they want if we are to avoid trouble," the elder replied.
"They want three wagons. We don't have three wagons."
He pointed to the side, where only one vehicle stood, filled with covered parcels that likely contained meat, as well as what remained of their grains and cereals. Looking at the load, Aelgar thought, this couldn't be all they had left.
"What are you talking about? We always keep some extra stored away in order to meet their demands."
"You mean we had extra saved away. But the angel eats enough for ten men. Our regular supply wasn't enough to feed him. We had to start using the amount we had stored away. We thought we could replenish our supplies by the time the raiders came, but they're here too early."
Aelgar gave a weary sigh. "Then we will have to explain to them our predicament and give them what we can spare. I'm sure they will be lenient. After all, we have provided them with many years of service." When his fellow villager's worried expression was not eased by these words, the elder asked, "What else troubles you, Eard?"
"I don't wish to speak out of turn," the man identified as Eard began hesitantly. Aelgar indicated for him to continue. "But even if we manage to appease the tribe leader, the angel will eat us out of house and home long before winter is over. I have a wife and two kids. I can't let them starve because all our food was stolen by outsiders."
"I understand your concerns," the old man said. "I will… talk to the angel. See if we cannot reach some sort of compromise. But first, I must handle matters with the tribe."
Aelgar looked down the road and saw movement. What began as specks in the distance quickly increased in size and took the clear forms of horses and their riders. A few minutes later, three men pulled up before them.
"Let me handle this," Aelgar told Eard, before walking over to greet the new arrivals.
The men were heavyset, with long dark hair and full beards that were wild from the ride. They wore animal pelts around broad shoulders and thick waists, and carried long spears with pointed tips in one hand. They didn't dismount from their steeds, instead choosing to speak down to the villager.
"Where are our wagons?" one rider demanded, his head turning in search of the vehicles.
"I would like to request more time to gather the supplies," Aelgar said to the man, who glared down at him.
"More time? You should know that we only provide protection for your village if our demands are met."
"Please, we have had a hard year. Food is scarce everywhere, and we barely have enough to feed ourselves."
"We don't care. You were only allowed to live this long because you said you could provide for our tribe whenever we came." The man leveled the point of his spear at the elder. "If you cease to be useful, then there is no value in keeping you around."
"I—we just need a little more time," Aelgar beseeched desperately, voice faltering at the weapon's proximity.
After a moment of contemplation, the rider spoke, "Fine. We will take what you have now."
He jerked his head in the direction of the wagon. One of the men behind him trotted over and harnessed the lone vehicle to his horse. Once everything was ready to go, the lead rider turned back to Aelgar.
"You have until the harvest to gather the rest. If you fail us a second time…" The spear suddenly shot forward, startling the old man into falling over.
The rider and his companions threw their heads back in raucous laughter. Then, with a pull of the reins and jab of the knees, they turned and rode away, leaving Aelgar lying in a heap on the ground. Eard helped Aelgar off the ground, spitting at the riders' retreating figures.
"What now?" Eard asked.
"Now, we hope we can bring in a big enough harvest to satisfy their needs."