This time it was Valentine who launched himself against Carl.
The latter, having recovered from the initial surprise, was waiting for his opponent.

The crimson blade and the steel one clashed.

Carl jumped back, his uniform torn open, exposing his chest, luckily unharmed.

«Hahaha, good reflexes,» Valentine complimented him sarcastically, a shallow cut across his chest.

They truly were. If I had blinked, I would have missed what had happened. When two blades crossed, Valentine's blood sword had suddenly lost consistency and was easily pierced by the opponent's. Then the blood had immediately solidified again, ready to strike Carl. But the boy, being the great fighter he was, had noticed something was wrong and jumped back, avoiding being hurt. Sadly his blade had only grazed Valentine though.

"It was pretty much a suicide attack."

Valentine didn't seem to care about getting injured.

But it made sense, given his strange resilience, he could afford it.

Speaking of his resilience, now I understood the reason behind it.

Valentine, somehow, seemed to be able to control his blood at will. This explained why his wounds were so superficial and why he didn't bleed from them. He had probably hardened his blood to form a shield in the areas where he was hit. That strange power was the perfect weapon against a skilled melee fighter like Carl.

Now that Valentine had unleashed that blood blade, the tides of the duel had changed. Carl was on the defensive. He couldn't parry it, so all he could do was try to keep his distance to avoid being hit.

Valentine taunted him: «Not so cocky now, huh?» he yelled, continuing his assault.

But Carl didn't seem to give up. He sheathed his sword and used the strength of his legs to put as much distance as possible between him and his opponent while casting fire darts from his wand. This tactic was defensively sound.
However, the spells were also proving ineffective in causing any harm to Valentine. The boy countered every fireball with spheres created from his blood. When the two projectiles met, they produced a small explosion, disappearing in the air.

It was a stalemate. Valentine couldn't get closer, but Stuart would eventually run out of mana. Igor, however, had become increasingly pale throughout the past minutes. It was unlikely that he could use his blood as a weapon indefinitely.

Perhaps for this reason, after another exchange of spells, Valentine seemed to have had enough.

With a leap, he threw himself once again at Carl, disregarding the spells that were about to hit him. One, two, three fireballs hit him squarely, but he continued his charge unperturbed.

His lunge didn't reach its destination.

His crimson blade stopped a few inches from Carl's neck, who with a jump managed to dodge it once again at the last moment.

With a triumphant yell, the boy pointed his wand at his opponent and shouted: «Flare!»

An explosion way more powerful than the fireballs hit Valentine in the chest. It was a more advanced spell than the ones Carl had cast so far. He was probably saving it as his trump card.

Valentine was lifted into the air by the impact.

But just as the outcome of the duel seemed to tip back towards Carl's victory, the blood blade came to life once more.

While its owner was sent backward by the force of the spell, the sword lost consistency and trembled, forming a spear that hurled towards Carl lightning fast. This time, he couldn't dodge backward: the blood jet was too fast.

The entire room held its breath as one man. In that instant, the entire duel was going to be decided.

Shortly after, the students slowly began to breathe again.

With a quick sideways movement, Carl barely managed to dodge the blood blade, which had only caused a small cut on the side of his neck.

That piece of shit! Valentine had aimed for a very dangerous spot. If Carl Stuart hadn't had his lightning fast reflexes, it could have ended very badly.

Speaking of Valentine.

The explosion had thrown him several meters back. He must have focused all his power on that last offensive, as for the first time, he seemed to have been affected by the blow. What was left of his charred shirt couldn't cover the large burn that had formed on his chest.

This time, Valentine didn't get up. But Carl remained at a distance, waiting. He probably didn't want to risk getting closer when victory was finally within his grasp.

Finally, with a grunt, Igor Valentine, using his sword as a cane, managed to get up. He was in terrible shape, and his legs were visibly shaking.

«I think that's enough, I hope I've managed to teach you something,» said Carl, eyeing his opponent.

Despite his words, he still held his wand pointed at his opponent, not letting his guard down.

But this time, surprisingly, Valentine nodded thoughtfully and declared:

«For once, I agree with you.»

The entire group of spectators seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief: that endless duel had finally come to an end. Even Carl seemed relieved. Valentine had certainly proved to be a much tougher nut to crack than he had expected.

«Very well, I accept your surrender,» he said, but without lowering his wand.

«Surrender?» Valentine asked, feigning surprise. «I think you've misunderstood. I just meant to say that I'm done playing with you, and it's time to finish the duel.»

«Stop talking nonsense! You can barely stand on your own. Surrender and don't make me hit you with another spell.»

But Carl's tone betrayed uncertainty. With the turn the duel had taken and the strange power Valentine possessed, he couldn't be sure if he was bluffing.

Valentine had a wicked smile on his face.

I had a bad feeling.

The boy opened his mouth, and what he said cast a cloak of terror over everyone present.

«Hey, what's coming out of your neck?» he asked, pointed the small wound he had caused with his blade «Is that blood, by any chance?»

«You don't...» his opponent stammered.

The threat behind those words was clear to everyone. But it wasn't possible... If Valentine's control over blood extended beyond his own... It was... Over? Not Carl, not Sophia, not me. No student could do anything against such power. What use were spells when your opponent could turn the liquid flowing in our veins into a blade capable of disemboweling us from the inside?

But then, with such power, why had he let himself be reduced to that state by Carl?

As if he had read my mind, Valentine chuckled:

«Hahaha, there's nothing better than seeing the expression of someone who thought they had won realizing they lost. But don't take it badly, you fought well. Unfortunately, you had already lost the moment you challenged me to a duel.»

After those words, Carl's conviction completely broke. Desperate, he yelled:

«I surrender!»

His face was distorted in an expression of terror. That emotion didn't suit that terribly strong and proud boy. It's even more unfair that that's the face with which I would remember Carl Stuart from now on.

With a spray of blood and a horrible sound of tearing flesh, Carl Stuart's head rolled on the floor, forever frozen in that expression of unspeakable terror.

99 students remaining...