"Last time, his flame wasn't this color—how did it turn purple?" Yang Han muttered inwardly.
That faint purple flame spread throughout the competition ring, making the opponent go from tense to furious, finally cursing the fire. But anyone who could enter this tournament wasn't easy to deal with.
The opponent activated his own technique—a wild wind rose up, wrapping him inside and blocking the flames from touching him. He could finally catch his breath. He sneered, "The Yang Clan's flame really is something else."
"Of course it's something else," Tyson Yang replied without hesitation, grinning.
"Arrogant," the opponent snorted coldly when he heard Tyson's words.
"That's just my basic technique. Don't think blocking with your wind means I can't deal with you. Watch this." Tyson smiled, and a ball of flame began to condense outside the wind barrier—more and more, the faint purple overlapping and intensifying, turning a deeper shade of purple. The heat grew stronger, so much that even people outside the ring were sweating buckets. That showed just how hot this flame was.
Of course, the clan heads and elders were fine, but most others had started sweating. Yang Han stayed calm—his body had a stream of cold flowing inside, so this heat meant nothing to him.
"Patriarch Yang, I didn't expect your clan to have talents like Tyson Yang besides Yang Han. Looks like your Yang Clan is packed with geniuses this time." The young man laughed after seeing the situation.
"This is just the beginning. All the clans are strong—he's just showing off a little," Yang Ming said with a smile.
"If that's just showing off, what about everyone else outside the ring? I'd bet his bloodline has at least a thread of Flameblood." The young man laughed.