As the flickering ashen flame danced in the old man's palm, Uncle Hui finally said. "Deathfire! So, you've finally perfected it," he said, the words seeping out from his mouth like a painful sigh. His face had drained of its usual color, the shock turning him into a ghastly figure. His voice, reduced to a raspy whisper, barely concealed the terror that laced his words. A wave of silence swept over the gathering, as the impact of Uncle Hui's words began to resonate with everyone present. The Deathfire Art was no ordinary technique; its perfection was synonymous with an unassailable supremacy.