As the night progressed, the battle between the demon slayer and the second uppermoon demon.

A Demon Slayer and Douma, a Upper Two.

You, you're not the best at fighting, not the best at strategy, But complicated to eliminate, Douma admits.

A cold atmosphere, the golden fan in his hand as if ready to slash and parry any attack.

Douma stood there, the fan in his hand covered the lower part of his face.

"Oh!? this is all you have? All your attacks have no effect on me."

He said, a enthusiastic cheerful voice, though hint of condescending.