That unique, affected accent drew the attention of everyone near Arena A.
People looked in bewilderment at the young noble dressed in a white undershirt, breeches, and a brocade jacket-not because Young Lissop was famous enough for everyone in South Los to recognize him, but because that style of wearing breeches, exposing the white stockings on his calves, belonged exclusively to traditional nobles.
And, of course, there were those eye-catching...
High heels.
In fact, as early as the Seven-Year War, victorious soldiers had identified nobles by their high heels.
After all, wigs and coats could be thrown away.
But the foot deformities caused by years of wearing high heels could never be changed in a short time.
Quite a few people maliciously speculated that nobles had simplified their attire during the Pioneer Age simply to make escaping easier in the future.
Thus, a man wearing high heels could only be a conservative noble.
This had long been common knowledge among the people of South Los.
That was also why the people around him had refrained from shouting abuse.
Young Lissop was very pleased by their angry expressions and their fear of speaking out.
It made him feel that he possessed "power."
Just like his father.
Especially when Young Lissop caught the flash of displeasure on Arthur's face, the pleasure welling up inside him compelled him to take out a handkerchief and gently wipe the nonexistent sweat from his palm.
But the next moment, the lord's son froze mid-motion.
"Get down, you pretentious fraud!"
"You're just a lord's son! Why are you pretending to be a high noble?"
"You don't even have a title!"
"Get down!"
Those cries rang out from some unknown corner of the crowd, then rose one after another in an unbroken chorus.
This displeased Young Lissop.