C2329 Dublin Intifada

Some people say that whether a city is prosperous or not, doesn't matter how long one's nightlife lasts on the surface, because since ancient times, night and day have always been part of leisure, and leisure has always required money.

Especially in the era when electricity was still not widespread, nightlife itself was a kind of luxury synonym. Just how much did the lights in the restaurant cost for a night of candles and gas lamps? How much wine did the boss need to be able to afford this?

Not to mention the singing lady in the bar and the well-dressed band, the luxurious atmosphere they created needed money.

Wealthy people could have an all-nighter in their own homes or high-end restaurants, but the event would always be concentrated in a small part of the country. Middle-class people obviously wouldn't have such luxury.

Night life in the commoner's cave was even more monotonous. The workers who left work in the evening only had enough money in their pockets to buy a bag of potatoes and a few pieces of bread for their families.

Only bachelors and unsuspecting drunks lingered in dirty taverns, cheap beer as sour and bitter as horse piss in their mouths, and old whores had to find drunk people to do business in the dim light.

You mean with wine and food? Oh my God, such a luxury is not something that the poor can have. Salt water beans or baked potato chips are considered a luxury meal.

The poor Irishmen did not enjoy much of such simple food and wine. They usually spent the last coin in their pockets before 9 pm, and with the exception of a few drunkards who could be trusted, the rest were all kicked out.

Irish poverty had penetrated to the bone, and British exploitation was all-pervasive, essentially blocking any opportunity for the Irish to make a fortune.

The millions of Irish didn't even have the right to sell food, and all the produce of Irish farmland had to be sold by the merchants established by the United Kingdom.

"Pah …" Bastard Englishman, one of these days, I will drown you all in the ocean … "Ugh …" In the middle of the night, a drunkard was puking at the sea while holding a gas pole. The pungent smell made him want to cry.

Tears blurred his eyes as the light in the darkness suddenly flickered strangely, as if countless ghosts were rushing towards him.

"This black-hearted Jack bar, what kind of rubbish did you give me to drink …" "I only borrowed a little money, is there a need for you to give me some adulterated wine …"

The drunkard rubbed his eyes and scrutinized carefully. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, forcing cold sweat out of his body. The alcohol immediately sobered up.

"Up..." God! "Who is this person …"

In the dark night in the cargo area of the port, a pitch-black gate was opened. A group of murderous gods silently rushed out like devils from hell. What were they holding in their hands? The shiny bayonets even had rifles and pistols.

"Weapon!" "Who would actually have a weapon …" The British arms embargo on the Ireland was extremely strict. Forget about weapons, there was no way to buy any raw materials to concoct gunpowder.

Just as the drunkard wanted to scream out loud, he saw a familiar face rushing over, and a large hand tightly covered his mouth. "Don't speak, I am Huai Te … This is the big day of the Young Irish Party uprising! "

All the alcohol in the drunkard's blood vessels was ignited by this sentence. "What did you say …" The martyred young people are back? "They're going to revolt..."

Huai Te took out his handgun and waved it as he shouted excitedly, "Did you see that... This time we have weapons, and we even have mercenaries with rich combat experience! "

"Long live Ireland! Long live independence! "

The sound of boots trampling on the ground in the dark night came from far away. The poor people who hadn't slept yet all pushed open the windows one after another. When they saw this group of death gods filled with killing intent, they were all shocked speechless.

Very soon, these poor people who were poking their heads out saw some familiar faces. "It's the union. What is the union trying to do?"

"Intifada... We're going to revolt! The Port Trade Union is under the command of the Young Irish Party, and we have decided to rebel tonight. We will now attack the Customs building, and we will burn down all the food that is about to be exported to England! "

"The Irish food will never feed the English beasts!"

Food was a scar on the hearts of the Irish. That battle with the Great Famine was destined to go down in history, as long as someone mentioned the Great Famine in their life, all the Irish would go crazy.

The moment they heard today that they were going to burn down all the grain that was exported from England, these Irishmen, filled with resentment, went mad.

"Move!" Was there going to be a war? Everyone move out... Go and fight on the streets! "

It was past midnight, and the sea was still and still, and most of the people were asleep, including the British barracks.

There was nothing to keep a secret anymore. The group of 60 plus people led by Paul was only 10 minutes away from Customs building.

"Soldiers!" Customs building was right in front of him. Kill all the British defenders, burn down buildings, and tear apart the British flag! "

"Long live the Young Irish Party! Long live the Irish Independence Movement! "

"Long live!" Countless people's blood was burning in the dark night. After a series of rumbling sounds of the wooden door being kicked open, the dock workers who were holding all kinds of knives or even huge wrenches went completely crazy.

A huge sound wave surged towards the Customs building and the Rich District like a tsunami. The British soldiers who were dozing off in the wooden tower were suddenly awakened by the noise.

"What happened? "Is it daybreak …" Before he could wipe the feces from the corner of his eyes, he saw a flickering light source coming straight at his face.

"What is it?" While speaking, a bottle of Molotov's cocktail smashed onto the tower with a 'pa' sound. The raging flames immediately swallowed the wooden spikes on the tower, and the screaming soldier's body turned into a flaming person. He smashed open the wooden door and started rolling on the street miserably.

"Riot …" The Irish are rioting... "Prepare for battle..."

In the midst of his screams, a kobold directly pierced his throat, causing him to be unable to make a single sound.

Moor warrior used his tongue to lick the blood on the blade. The smell of blood made all the warlike factors on his body burn up, and he roared angrily at the Customs building in front of him, "Long live Ireland! Long live independence! Kill all the Englishmen in this building and set fire to them! "

Over sixty mercenaries flanked the two sides of the building in an attempt to stop the British support force while the other half of them brought dozens of union members with them. They raised their torches high to smash open the main door as they charged inside.

The rebellion of the Dublin in 1869 officially began!