Erhart stands, waiting for the coming storm of mechanical foulness. He hasn't spoken to Saber since chosing to make a stand with her in this place. He doesn't need to. His armor, already scarred from a few skirmishes, is burn back to gunmetal gray in some areas, the black paint burned off to gold in others, on the more ancient, relic parts of the armor. The Black Blade crackles fitfully with energy, as he holds it two-handed, already prepared to swing. He has chosen the weakest point in the defenses for their stand. They will be in the breach.

"It has been said of my forebears... Walls fail. Fists do not." Erhart clenches his fist, his Imperial Fist, and brings it against his chest plastron briefly, making a ringing noise. "Hear my oath of moment, Saber. These minions of foe shall not cross this breach. Not a single one, while I live. I have dug my grave in this place, and I will fight until my last breath."

He halts a moment, and then says, much more quietly. "I am pleased that I had another Knight to witness what will likely be my last Oath of Moment, before the end."