In Dracula's Castle's dungeon.
Liu Di was somewhat dazed.
The scene from moments ago echoed in his mind.
After the Iron Mask man heard Liu Di announce his identity, he froze for a moment before bursting into laughter, drawing the attention of every noble present.
Then a vicious gleam flashed in his eyes. With a broad wave of his hand, he said, "Sir Cummings, is it? Throw him into the dungeon. When the moon is full, I will personally execute him!"
"Yes, Voivode of Wallachia!"
A dozen or so guards then rushed out, subdued Liu Di, and escorted him to this dungeon.
"This isn't right."
"I had already determined it."
"The Voivode of Wallachia—that Dracula—could be considered a historical figure."
"His story was recorded in quite a few churches."
"There were also several portraits of him."
"Though they were somewhat abstract, one thing was certain: he did not wear an iron mask, nor was he built so sturdily. And he had black hair."
"Why?"
Liu Di's eyelid twitched slightly.
He looked around at the dim surroundings. A foul stench filled the air, dried bloodstains lay by his feet, and there were even several stark white bones.
He had actually gotten himself into such a sorry state.
Still, at least no one here knew him.
Clang, clang, clang.
Someone above knocked against the bars.
Liu Di raised his head slightly and saw a tiny ventilation window set high in the dungeon wall.
Dra, still dressed as a woman, lay sprawled over the window, holding a small stone and tapping the bars.
He said solemnly, "My friend, you truly are an Asahel—the foremost of the Bible's Thirty Mighty Men. I will always remember you!"
Liu Di's mouth twitched. "What Asahel? I specifically came here to give you a lookout."
Dra chuckled.