The boarding action on the left flank had carried the taste of despair from the very beginning.
A few of the more daring longships under Stannis barely managed to draw alongside a medium-sized warship on the outer edge of the Targaryen fleet.
The moment the boarding planks dropped, soldiers of the Baratheon Royal Fleet charged across with a roar, hoping to overwhelm the enemy with numbers.
But what awaited them was not the chaotic resistance they had expected, but silent, efficient slaughter.
The soldiers aboard the black warship wore dark red or charcoal cloaks, their armor gleaming cold and hard beneath the gloomy daylight.
They gave no battle cries, only clipped orders and the sharp hiss of weapons cutting through the air.
Their formation was tight, each man covering the others, every slash and thrust precise and lethal.
Faced with an overwhelming gulf in skill and experience, the Baratheon soldiers' courage rapidly drained away.
Blood soon stained the deck red. Amid screams, the men who had boarded fell like wheat before a scythe, their bodies kicked mercilessly into the sea.
In less than a quarter of an hour, those longships had become floating coffins, either slowly sinking or taken over by enemy sailors.
Much the same was happening throughout the left flank's vanguard.
"The right flank! Order the right flank forward! Reinforce the breach on the left!" Stannis stood on the violently rocking bridge, shouting himself hoarse, his voice cracking with anger and agitation.
Yet the right flank... the fleet made up of several Stormlands houses that had only recently surrendered to him.
Visibly hesitated.
Their banners fluttered uneasily in the sea breeze. Their ships slowed, their formation loosened, and a few vessels even began subtly adjusting their sails, as though struggling to decide whether to advance or retreat.
They