If Blade had challenged their boss to a one-on-one duel, these vampires could have stood to the side cheering, giving their boss a chance to display his martial prowess. After all, Blade's life or death held enormous symbolic significance for vampires.
But now that this guy was not Blade, there was nothing more to say. They would swarm him and chop him to death.
The sounds of weapons being drawn merged together as thirty elite vampires charged forward.
Deadpool had no silver weapons. After all, one could hardly expect an old butler, who was himself a vampire, to carry silver weapons, could they? This rapier was certainly sharp, but without special treatment, Deadpool was in a dangerous position against these unkillable vampires.
Count Dracula enjoyed fighting, enjoyed the thrill of blades clashing, but he had no interest in dueling some random passerby.
It was not that he knew nothing about the outside world, but the things he collected were all kinds of knowledge—human science and technology.
When it came to Earth's superheroes, he was the type who knew neither the famous nor the unknown.
He did not care in the slightest about Captain America or Iron Man.
Who could name the most famous hero in Constantinople in the year 1559? Or pick any year and any place—who was the most famous person in Paris in 1612? Who was the chief of Ethiopia in 1779?
Other than historians, no one knew the answers to those questions at all!
As a long-lived being, Count Dracula did not care about Earth's superheroes. How long could those people stay active in his view? Ten years? Twenty? There was no need for him to remember their names, because after one brief period of hibernation, they might already have died of old age by the time