Oolong

De Launay lay on the ground, his head buzzing. He wanted to get up, but his body was weak and he couldn't muster any strength. He wanted to ask for help from those nearby, but they too were lying on the ground, unable to move. Moreover, he couldn't even hear his own shouts.

"It's over, the gunpowder magazine must have exploded," De Launay thought.

The gunpowder magazine in the Bastille certainly didn't contain hundreds of thousands of pounds of gunpowder capable of blowing up the entire fortress; in fact, the total amount was less than ten thousand pounds. However, if those ten thousand pounds of gunpowder did explode, it would still be quite deadly.

"Damn it, I wonder if the walls have fallen," De Launay thought.

After an unknown amount of time, de Launay finally regained some strength. He leaned on a table and managed to get up, staggering to the city walls.

A long crack, wide enough to fit a fist, stretched across the wall. Most of the guards on the wall were still lying on the ground, with only one or two holding onto the battlements, struggling to rise.

"What happened? What's going on?" De Launay shouted.

No one answered him. Even a soldier who had managed to stand up looked at him with a confused expression, seemingly not understanding what he was saying.

De Launay realized that it was because he couldn't hear his own voice – the explosion had damaged his hearing. In fact, de Launay couldn't even hear what he himself was saying.

De Launay stumbled to the edge of the battlements and looked down.

Not far from the moat, there was a large crater, with smoke slowly rising from it. Within a radius of thirty to forty meters around the crater, all the houses had been knocked down. Further away, the streets, and even the roofs of buildings that hadn't collapsed, were covered with people.

"What... what is this? Did a meteorite fall here?" De Launay's mind even conjured up such a strange thought.

This was, of course, not the result of a meteorite, but the passionate collision of a large explosive charge and a bullet.

Just moments ago, someone had driven a carriage carrying what was said to be "new explosives" for mining.

"We are men of the Duke of Orleans, and this is the explosive we use for mining. We've packed the explosives and inserted the fuses. All it takes is one brave man, a true warrior like Oenomaus (a character from the play 'Spartacus', who finally sang the 'Slave War Song' on the cross), to brave the tyrant's bullets and deliver this to the base of the city wall to ignite it, and we can blow an entire section of the wall sky-high," the man driving the carriage shouted.

"Can this stuff blow up the city walls?" someone asked incredulously.

"As long as there's enough explosive, even a mountain can be blown down," the carriage driver replied.

At this moment, a large man walked over, shouting, "I'll do it, I'll do it," as he reached out and picked up an explosive package from the carriage.

"So light?" the big man pouted. "There's only a little gunpowder in here, what can this do?"

"We have explosives in here, much more powerful than gunpowder. And it's not light, there are a full twelve pounds of explosives!" the carriage driver said.

"Don't be stingy, add more," the big man said. "It might take sacrificing several people to deliver one of these. If one isn't enough, won't that mean sacrificing even more people? So, the more powerful, the better, and the more explosives, the better. Why don't we combine the contents of these packages and blow up the entire Bastille at once? What do you say?"

The crowd around them roared in agreement.

"That's right!"

"Send them all to hell!"

"Let them go to God themselves to ask for forgiveness!"

Seeing everyone supporting him, the big man became even more enthusiastic and began dismantling the explosive package himself.

"Hey, hey! Don't mess with it, we'll do it, we'll do it, you don't know how, you'll blow it up!" the carriage driver quickly said.

Soon, the five explosive packages on the carriage were combined into one.

"This thing is over sixty pounds. Can you carry it?" the carriage driver asked.

The big man grabbed the large explosive package with one hand and tossed it lightly in the air, nearly making the carriage driver collapse to the ground in fright.

"It's alright, not too heavy. Who else has a torch?" the big man shouted.

"Here, here!" someone yelled, thrusting a lit torch in front of the big man, almost poking the explosive package.

"Be careful!" the big man said, taking the torch with one hand and tucking the explosive package under his arm. "Aren't you afraid of 'boom,' and we all fly into the sky?"

"'My brothers, what is there to fear? We have nothing to fear! Because what could be more painful and terrifying than the lives we've lived? We live like pigs, trampled like dirt, what is there for us to fear? What more can we lose? Is there anything in our lives worth clinging to? Friends, brothers, if there is anything we can lose in battle, it is the chains that bind us, but once we win, what we gain will be the whole world! A new world where no one can oppress or enslave another!' (Quote from Spartacus)" the man replied.

The big man laughed: "Alright, my brother, stop reciting lines, we all know them by heart! Now, if you've got the guts, follow me. If I fall before reaching the city wall, you take the explosive package and torch from my hands and continue the fight in my stead! What do you say, any problem?"

"No problem!" the rough-looking fellow shouted back.

"Then let's go!" the big man said.

"Wait! Wait!" the carriage driver suddenly shouted. "You can't just charge like this, you need cover. Let's have more people charge from different angles to distract them. Others should open fire on the Bastille simultaneously to cover them."

"Hey, that's a good idea!" everyone shouted. "Let's do it!"

"I'll charge too!"

"Pack me a fake explosive package! I can also attract their attention!"

So the militiamen began firing sporadically at the Bastille, and over ten people took the opportunity to charge towards it.

The guards on the walls opened fire, and the big man, due to his size, was targeted by several rifles. However, despite his large target, the big man ran fast, and several bullets landed behind him, missing him. The rough-looking fellow who followed him, however, was hit by a stray bullet meant for the big man.

"Big guy, charge forward!" the rough-looking fellow shouted as he fell.

However, by this time, the big man had reached the front of the moat. He had to slow down to safely leap into it. But as he slowed down, a rifle aimed at him.

"Bang!" The rifle fired. In the eyes of the Swiss soldier who fired, the tall big man was like a large brown bear in the Alpine forests. In his expectation, after his shot, this big man would surely fall to the ground like the brown bears he had shot before, perhaps even rolling a couple of times.

However, to his surprise, the bear did not fall and roll; instead, it exploded.

Yes, the bullet he fired had hit the explosive package the big man was carrying.

The astonishing explosive power of the high-grade dynamite was fully displayed in this moment; a massive, visible circular shockwave swept across the entire area in an instant, tearing those standing near the giant to shreds and scattering their remains. Next came the surrounding buildings, which, under the assault of the shockwave, behaved like models made of playing cards caught in a super typhoon. The moment the circular shockwave struck them, they were instantly ripped into fragments and sent drifting away.

Immediately following, this shockwave slammed violently into the walls of the Bastille, causing the towering ramparts to shake intensely, much like a small boat caught in a raging storm.

The soldiers standing atop the walls were knocked to the ground almost instantly by the shockwave, only to be rendered unconscious by the deafening roar of the explosion that followed.

If another group of militiamen had charged forward at this moment, they surely could have easily severed the iron chains holding the drawbridge, smashed open the gates, and stormed into the Bastille. However, the condition of the militiamen at this time was even worse than that of the defenders. Because they were closer to the blast site, the militiamen suffered even heavier casualties; behind the houses destroyed by the shockwave, there had been militiamen providing covering fire for the assault, and after the explosion, almost none of them survived.

Even the militiamen who were further away were stunned into unconsciousness by the thunderous roar of the blast, rendering them unable to be committed to the attack. As for the militiamen even further back, they had no idea what had happened at the front, and lacking a clear command structure, they were in total disarray, never even considering the possibility of seizing the opportunity to attack. And so, such a golden opportunity slipped right through their fingers.