The towering red forced Fang Huai to take a detour and climb.
As the mountain was in the shape of a staircase, when he reached the platform level, a shiver ran through Fang Huai.
This red, unlike the yellow-tinged flames he had seen before, must be blaze red.
An uphill fire was truly terrifying; a mere gust of wind in over just ten minutes had turned it into a roaring inferno, desperately trying to burst out like alcohol flamed in a hot pan.
Now the flames had shot up seven or eight meters high. The platform was like the edge of a pot, and all around it were flammable materials.
Unfortunately, they were not chefs who could flip this massive mountainous pot, and even their only water curtain pot lid was too small to cover the flames.
