The Ashbringer in Darian's hands was still powerful. Its surging Holy Light burned and purified his enemies while also healing and strengthening him. But Darian himself could no longer keep up. He was only a Gold Tier Paladin. Though his will was strong, it couldn't make up for his lack of stamina. Darian was tired. Against Falric and the other two Death Knights, who had fought countless battles in life and worked together with perfect coordination, Darian was still far too inexperienced.
Whenever the Ashbringer's Holy Light reached its peak, Falric and the others would retreat slightly, letting the Skeleton Warriors and Ghouls charge ahead. As soon as the Ashbringer's light began to fade, the three Death Knights would close in again, using their practiced techniques and seamless teamwork to inflict more wounds on Darian.
"Damn it! You don't deserve to call yourselves knights! You have no chivalry at all! Come on! If you've got the guts, face me head-on! What kind of strength is there in hiding behind your soldiers?"
Darian was furious. Perhaps his talent and temperament were both far better than his brother's, but he lacked his brother's wealth of combat experience. Combined with Alexandros's affection for him, it had left Darian like a flower in a greenhouse—beautiful, but never tested by wind or rain. His experiences in the Plaguelands had honed his will and fighting skills, but hadn't changed his outlook.
There were no rules or chivalry on a battlefield. On a battlefield, the victor lived and the loser died. Sadly, Darian didn't understand that. In a life-and-death struggle between two forces, there were no rules. Victory was the only rule.
In the end, the bloodline of the great human hero Alexandros Mograine came to an end beneath the attacks of the trio led by Arthas.