While there are many other Noble Phantasms crafted more splendidly and with better skill, Excalibur is an illusion far superior to them. It cannot be called beautiful because of its appearance, for the description of "beautiful" will only dirty it. It is instead sacred, made from people's conceptions, a legend weaved purely out of hope. It is not a myth or inhuman work, but a "crystal trained by the heart alone", making it reign as the strongest fantasy. It is the crystallization of the prayer named "glory" and everything etched in the hearts of those who are scattered at the sword's radiance; the nostalgic, sorrowful, and hallowed dream of those who were placed on the bloody hell called a battlefield, of all warriors past, present, and future fully exposed to the fear of death and despair, and who still cling to a desire: "to be exalted." Looking upon its light makes Gilgamesh fondly remember Enkidu, and it is able to make even Gilles de Rais, having fallen into brutality and smeared with corruption, remember the light and glory of his past that has been etched into his heart before it destroys him.