So, all things considered, the King of the Mountain was more than willing to pledge allegiance to Wes rather than some damn Child of Prophecy. After all, this curse itself had been brought about by Gondor's ancestors. If your enemy removed pain they had forcibly inflicted upon you, probably not many people would feel grateful for it.
"Uh..." Wes looked at the holy sword in his hand, momentarily at a loss. He couldn't exactly summon the Undead Army in a moment, could he? Then again, maybe he could? The kingdom was going to war with the Chariot People anyway. The Undead Army could help hold the line and grind through the enemy.
"What is it, Sir Wes? Perhaps I can help?" The King of the Mountain leaned closer and spoke kindly, though his savage soul-like face rather ruined that friendly image.
"Right, I still haven't asked for your name, Senior!" Wes suddenly realized that he did not even know what the King of the Mountain was called.
"Mm..." The King of the Mountain fell silent, a rare occurrence. After pondering for a long while, he finally shook his head slowly, a look of acceptance appearing on his face.
"I have forgotten my own name. Too much time has passed—so much that I have forgotten many things. Never mind. You may call me the King of the Mountain or the Mountainfolk Lord from now on." There was only calmness and acceptance on the King of the Mountain's aged face.
"Alright. I'd like to ask how I can command your people," Wes said. After all, he was neither a necromancer nor an Undead creature, so such things were still quite novel to him. Although Villy could corrupt others into Undead skeletons, he could not control them. Those Undead possessed only instinct and